


The London Sonnets

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [15]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:05:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles joins Joyce on a buying trip to London in an attempt to get back to where they were before the events of Chaos Theory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Straight In Her Heart Did Mercy Come

**Author's Note:**

> Set about a month after Resting State. The chapter titles are taken from the Sonnets of William Shakespeare.
> 
> Written by Mydeira, beta'd by Sadbhyl.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giles joins Joyce on a buying trip to London in an attempt to get back to where they were

Giles watched the clouds sweep by, an alien landscape lit by the moon. This probably wasn’t a good idea. He hadn’t been back to London since he set out for Sunnydale almost five years earlier. Even then, he hadn’t been in London so much as at the Council’s main headquarters. He’d tried to avoid London as often as possible over the years. And here he was, going back, with Joyce.

That was another problem. He and Joyce still hadn’t a chance to talk about things. Things kept coming up, and then Buffy had moved back home for the summer. The trip had seemed like a good idea, but with everything still unresolved, Giles was wondering if he might have made a mistake.

“Rupert?” Joyce asked, looking at him with concern. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing. I just don’t care much for flying,” he lied.

She eyed him critically. “Somehow I don’t believe that. You’re having second thoughts, aren’t you?”

“I’m not . . . really. It’s just that . . . I am, actually,” he sighed.

Grasping his hand, “I thought you would. And it probably would have been better to talk at home, but it just didn’t seem to be happening.”

He smiled faintly. “No, it didn’t.”

“Ethan thinks you’re avoiding on purpose,” she said, voice neutral.

“Does he?” Giles tried to keep the anger out of his voice. Of course she’d seen Ethan since, why wouldn’t she? But why had she let Ethan do that to her? And then he had made things worse by . . . Giles had thought he’d had Ripper under control, but that was far from true wasn’t it? Ethan kept proving that time and time again. The whole thing between the three of them had been a mistake. Three way relationships, as a rule, were problematic at best, and factoring in his and Ethan’s respective histories complicated things further. There was too much working against them.

“What are you so afraid of, Rupert?” Her voice was soft.

“Nothing. I just would rather not discuss it here.”

She frowned, seeing right through him.

“Please, Joyce,” he pleaded. He couldn’t put it off forever, but he’d like to try. She wanted answers he wasn’t ready to give.

“Alright,” she conceded. “Not here.”

Joyce went back to her book, withdrawing into her own seat. He could tell she was upset.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I know you are,” she looked at him briefly.

“Joyce…”

“We’ll talk later, Rupert,” she put an end to their conversation.

He was going to make a mess of this one way or another. Giles turned back to the window, cursing Ethan and his perception. He wouldn’t avoid this much longer.

 

 

They arrived at Heathrow shortly before nine in the morning. Joyce still wasn’t speaking to him as they made their way through customs and picked up their baggage, making their way out to the main concourse. Giles soon learned that Joyce had arranged for a car to take them to where they were staying, but she wouldn’t say where that was.

The car came to a stop outside an old Victorian home not too far from Notting Hill. The brick and white edifice was in pristine condition. Surely they weren’t staying here? A nice hotel maybe, but he hadn’t expected this. Even lower-scale establishments tended to be pricey, and this one was definitely top of the line. It only made Giles feel that much worse about how he’d handled things.

Joyce got out, leaving him to follow her inside the Kildare Gardens Bed & Breakfast.

After getting their bags, he found her already in discussion with an older woman at the front desk.

“Ah, Mrs. Summers, of course. Your trip went well, I hope?” the clerk, Agnes by her nametag, asked as she went about checking them in.

“Well, but tiring,” Joyce replied.

“To be expected. However, I will caution against going to sleep right away, it will make the time adjustment easier,” Agnes said sagely. “Well things are in order, shall I show you and your—” the woman did a quick assessment, “companion to your room?”

“Thank you,” Joyce smiled. Then they followed the woman up the flight of stairs to the first floor.

“If there is anything you need, please don’t hesitate to contact the front desk. Either my husband and I should be readily available,” Agnes chattered as she unlocked the door then handed Joyce the key. “You just missed breakfast, but I can make you something quick in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

“We’re fine,” Joyce said kindly. “Thank you for your help, Agnes.”

The woman smiled and left them alone.

Pushing the door open, they walked in. Giles nearly dropped the bags when he saw the room.

“Joyce, this is too much,” he said.

Their stay must be costing Joyce a small fortune, but she had insisted on taking care of the arrangements. The mahogany double doors opened into a spacious, wooden-floored room decorated with aqua-blue striped paper and set off by white trim. Rounding out the room was a fireplace and private wrought-iron balcony which both paled next the showpiece, a king size, four-poster mahogany bed.

“I believe there’s also a Jacuzzi in the bathroom,” she walked over and took the bags from him and placing them by the bed. “You don’t like it?”

Finally finding his voice, “It’s remarkable, but . . . you shouldn’t have done this.”

“I wanted to do something nice,” she said, smiling at him for the first time since they had arrived.

“At least let me—”

Joyce cut him off, “Don’t you dare suggest it. This is my treat. And, well, Agnes and her husband purchased a few rare pieces not too long ago from me, for a good price. So this was a bit more reasonable than you’re thinking.”

The woman was amazing, and he was a complete and utter fool.

He wrapped his arms around her and felt her relax against him. “Thank you,” he whispered.

She smiled up at him, then yawned. “I know sleep is against the rules, but do you think a quick nap would hurt?”

Giles eyed the bed. “It sounds ideal.”

Kicking off their shoes, they went over to the bed and sank gratefully into the white down haven. Joyce snuggled against him, resting her head on his chest.

“Just a quick nap,” she sighed, drifting off, leaving Giles alone with his thoughts.

 

 

The quick nap lengthened into a short sleep. When Giles awoke he found that it was nearly four o’clock. If they didn’t get up now, well . . . he looked down at Joyce, still curled against him, and suddenly had no desire to get up. He’d missed this, just being with her. Why did he keep avoiding her? If she could forgive Ethan, then why wouldn’t she . . . Joyce wasn’t the issue here. Giles couldn’t forgive himself. Not for what he’d done that day, nor what he’d done twenty years earlier. Some things weren’t meant to be forgiven; the weight of them was penance. Some things were better left in the past.

“Hey,” Joyce jarred him from his thoughts, voice still heavy with sleep. “Why do I have a feeling that was more than a quick nap?”

“Because it’s four?” he suggested.

“No wonder I’m hungry,” she smiled. “You don’t by any chance know of any good restaurants in the area, do you?”

It was his turn to smile, “As a matter of fact, I do. It’s been a few years, but the good places usually hang around for awhile.”

“Sounds good,” she kissed him quickly before stretching. “Mind if I go freshen up? Nothing guarantees great service like bed-head.”

“I don’t mind the look so much myself,” he touched the mussed hair affectionately.

“Flattery will you get everywhere, mister,” she said, getting up and heading to the bathroom.

He really had missed this. Maybe it was time to be a man and try and get things back on track. Giles lay back with a groan. If only it were that simple. He knew he wasn’t ready to give Joyce the answers she wanted. And until she got them, things would never be quite right.  


Part II is Monday, so stay tuned. Preview: the food is delicious. :)


	2. All Frailties That Besiege All Kinds of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner and some not so light conversation.

Moroccan. Joyce was pleased to find out Rupert had a taste for exotic food. She liked variety in the types of food she ate; it was good to know her men did as well. Her men? Were they really hers at all? Well, one of them still was, as much as he could be. Dinner at a foreign restaurant and some deep discussion had led to things being in the uncertain state they were between the three of them; maybe it was the way to fix them.  
  
Turning away from her thoughts, she studied the restaurant while they waited to be seated. Rupert definitely knew his restaurants. While she had never actually been to Morocco, Joyce had a feeling this is what it would look like if she did. The low chairs were an ornate, dark wood carved delicately to match the patterns on the tables. As for the décor, the art pieces interspersed throughout the dining area were quite authentic. What she could get for them at the gallery made her fingers itch. To say she was impressed was an understatement.  
  
“You’re trying to even things out, aren’t you?” she asked suspiciously.  
  
Rupert raised his eyebrows in consideration, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “I happen to like my food as authentic as possible.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“And Momo is second only to Marrakech itself for the best in Moroccan food,” he informed her.  
  
“I stand corrected,” she smiled.  
  
He drew her close and kissed her lightly. “Wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”  
  
Joyce enjoyed his nearness. It had been too long. Suddenly she didn’t want to do anything to disrupt this ease, and she was certain trying to talk about things would do just that. Maybe it could wait?   
  
They were seated soon after, and placed their orders with no trouble. Things went well through the starter compote of peeled roasted peppers, tomatoes, garlic, cumin and fresh coriander. Conversation and the delectable mix of spices kept unwanted thoughts away. However, by the time the main course of spiced lamb skewers on couscous arrived, Joyce realized that the temporary ease was just that, temporary. She had asked Rupert if he had done any more singing since his show at the Espresso Pump a few months back and he had almost immediately clammed up. It had be a great evening, as she remembered it. After Rupert had helped out the kids he’d come back and . . . Oh! Oh. It had been one of the most intimate nights the three of them had shared, the prime example of just how good things could be.  
  
They finished the rest of the meal in silence.  
  
All things considered, Joyce had been surprised when Rupert had agreed to go on the trip with her in the first place. Apparently their ideas of talking soon weren’t quite the same. It had been more than a month since they had the brief conversation in the kitchen following the fight with Adam and visit from the First Slayer, but nothing more came of it. He always seemed to be busy. Ethan had been right, avoidance seemed to be Rupert’s reaction to anything involving Ripper.  
  
She had gotten sick of trying to wait him out and decided to take Ethan’s advice and confront Rupert. To ease things along and ensure that Rupert had little chance to escape, Joyce had hit upon the idea of the trip. But she was beginning to see that the whole thing would be a complete waste if they didn’t clear things up before too long.  
  
Maybe if she went first, he wouldn’t be so hesitant. And maybe if she could make him understand why she had let Ethan, no, made Ethan use her that day, then maybe . . . Joyce finished her wine. No time like the present.  
  
“I want to tell you what happened that day,” she said without preamble.  
  
Rupert looked up at her, stiffening slightly. “Joyce, this probably isn’t—”  
  
“There never is a good time or place for something like this,” she sighed. “But I can’t stand to have this hanging between us anymore. I doubt either one of us will be comfortable around the other for any length of time until it is gone.”  
  
“I have to agree,” he conceded with resignation.  
  
They sat silently as the waiter cleared their table and then returned with dessert and mint tea.  
  
“We had gone out for dinner,” she began when they were alone again. “It was just dinner, and talking. But something happened. He said it was telling so much truth, that it affected him.”  
  
“Ethan and truth never did mix well,” Rupert interjected knowingly and without any snideness.  
  
“He said something about it being one of the most powerful expressions of chaos.” Joyce continued, “On the drive back to the house, he was very tense, nearly jumping out of his skin. When we arrived, he tried to leave but I wouldn’t let him. I’m not a fool, I knew it wouldn’t be pleasant. And I soon realized how in over my head I was, but I was determined to see it through to the end.”  
  
She sipped some tea, debating about how much she should tell Rupert about what went on that night. It would probably be best to leave out his attempt at draining her; she had a feeling that would go over worse than the bruises did. And he didn’t need to know the how, what, and where of it all.  
  
Decided, she went on. “I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say I was a willing participant through everything.”  
  
“He didn’t just stop, did he?” Rupert pressed.  
  
“No, he didn’t,” was all she would say.  
  
“You stopped him,” he clarified for her, a touch of admiration in his voice. “He went after your essence.”  
  
Joyce blinked.  
  
“Both you and Buffy have enormous energy resources that a less than ethical sorcerer would relish getting his hands on. By submitting yourself to such a situation, sublimating your will and natural inclination to fight, you left yourself wide open to him. In his weakened state, Ethan wouldn't have been able to resist the opportunity.” He looked past her as he spoke next. “And I’ve experienced both sides of it myself. Before things went bad back when . . . Ethan and I had each other.”   
  
Rupert grew quiet then, but she didn’t want to say anything and shatter his candor. After a few moments, she knew he wasn’t going to say anymore. Fine, back to her.  
  
“I wanted him to do it,” Joyce said quietly, voice steady. “I wanted to see first hand the darkness he carries with him. And quite frankly, I was a bit fed up with the both of you for trying to protect me. It was a piece of Ethan, and of you, that I feel I have the right to see.”  
  
“There’s a reason why we don’t want you to see that darkness,” he said firmly.  
  
“It’s frightening,” she confessed. “But I won’t lie and say there wasn’t a part of me that didn’t enjoy it as well.”  
  
“The darkness can be as arousing as it is terrifying,” he looked at her, unblinkingly. “And because of that it’s very powerful and very dangerous.”  
  
She understood that now, could see the lure. And she finally realized what Ethan had been trying to tell her that morning after she had thrown Rupert out. “I’m so sorry,” she said.  
  
“Joyce, you have nothing to be—”  
  
“No, I’m sorry for how I treated you that morning. I . . . I rejected in you what I had accepted in Ethan. It wasn’t what you did so much as the intention behind it.” She searched for the right words. “I’m used to fighting my own battles and I don’t handle things very well when someone tries to do that for me.”  
  
“You had every right to throw me out that morning. Probably was the best thing you could have done,” he spoke slowly. “I hate to admit it, but I really do admire Ethan for being able to embrace that part of himself. I’ve never been able to do that, reconcile darker and lighter natures in myself. When I ran with Ethan, I was all Ripper. Part of it was rebellion. But most of it . . . I did some things which were quite horrific. Things that I’ve tried to forget because there’s no other way I can deal with them.”  
  
“And Ethan reminds you of those things?”  
  
“Yes and no. Things are different now. But he likes to provoke that side of me. And when Ripper does emerge, completely . . . Maybe it’s worse trying to keep it repressed,” he sighed. “I wasn’t expecting you to be as understanding as you’ve been. Throwing me out, I could deal with. But wanting me back?”  
  
“How could I not?” she reached for his hand, holding tightly. “You’re a good man, Rupert Giles, regardless of what you think.”  
  
“You’re too good to me, Joyce,” he smiled slightly. “I really don’t deserve you.”  
  
She held his gaze, “Maybe not, but you have me anyway.”  
  
“Check?”  
  
She nodded.  
  
While Rupert took care of the bill, Joyce reviewed things. She hadn’t expected Rupert to open up like he had. There was more than he was telling her, of that she was certain. But this was a start. At least now he knew her feelings on things, her reasons for doing what she did, and it didn’t seem to scare him off. Hopefully this put them back on the right track. Joyce hoped so. She really wanted to enjoy London.


	3. Now Stand You On The Top Of Happy Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sightseeing can be fun.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Joyce asked as she dressed. “Playing tourist, I mean?”

Giles watched her move with simple grace about the room. “I think I can put up with it for one day,” he said, trying to sound put-upon.

Walking over, she bent down and kissed him lightly. “Thank you.”

“For humoring you?” he grinned. “Such a chore. But contrary to popular belief, locals do like to check out the attractions.”

“For understanding,” she corrected, sitting next to him on the bed.

“I think it’s the other way around,” Giles said somberly. “I’ve been . . . well, I’ve been an idiot these last few weeks and—”

She silenced him with her fingertips. “I have an idea. This is a vacation, right? How about we take a day off from the adult stuff? We have time to deal with it later.”

“What? Act like two crazy young kids in—” he stopped himself before he added love, “on their own for the first time? We know how well that turned out.”

“I certainly had fun. But somehow I doubt the police here will be as understanding as in Sunnydale,” she said, eyes dancing.

“Bobbies,” he corrected. “They can be just as oblivious. If you know how to do things, that is.”

“Shall we?”

“Find ourselves another police car?” he asked, fighting a grin.

She punched him lightly. “Leave,” she clarified. “And I thought I had the dirty mind.”

“I have my moments,” he laughed. “But I wasn’t the one who nicked the handcuffs that night.”

“No, but you didn’t seem to mind that I took them,” she said pointedly. “Ready to go?”

He nodded as she rose, sad for the loss of her pressed against him. Last night after dinner nothing had happened, as they had been worn out from both the journey and the talk. But with her curled close as they slept, Giles found he was quite happy with just that. It was the little things he had missed most while they were apart. Like the contented sigh she gave before finally giving herself over to sleep. Her warmth and smell. Just being able to hold her again.

“Rupert?” she pulled him back to the present.

“Sorry,” he said, getting up and walking toward Joyce. Then, affecting one of his more seductive tones as he wrapped his arms about her, “I just got a bit distracted.”

“Good distraction?”

“The best,” he gave her a languid kiss. “But I’m afraid if we don’t leave now, we probably won’t make it out of the room.”

“I’m not complaining,” she kissed him back.

He let the kiss progress a bit before finally stopping it. “No, the lady wanted to see the sights today and the sights she shall see.”

Giles left her standing there and made his way to the door. Joyce stood there a bit flustered.

“Are you coming?”

Blinking, she affected frustration, grabbed her purse, and brushed past him. She turned back with a wicked smile. “I will get you back, you know.”

And there was nothing he could do but follow after.

 

 

Big Ben and Parliament, the Tower, Trafalgar Square . . . Giles was amazed that they had been able to see so much in so little time. It was only early afternoon when they reached Westminster Abbey. The cool dimness and simplicity of the church were welcoming after a whirlwind tour of the sights on an all too bright day.

“I thought it was always supposed to be foggy or rainy here. I don’t think we get this much sun in California,” Joyce commented idly as they waited for admittance.

“No need to alert the media, I can assure you that the sun does pop out on occasion, however rare,” he chuckled, pulling her close.

Joyce melted back against him. “So no apocalypse then?”

“Missed the season by a month.”

“Good to know,” she grinned.

They walked the paths of millions of visitors over the years, paying their respects to the famous residents of the Abbey: Tennyson and Chaucer, Dickens and Hardy, Newton and Darwin, Elizabeth I and Mary Queen of Scots…

“There’s a sort of irony to it all, isn’t there?” Joyce said, studying Elizabeth I’s refurbished memorial.

“How’s that?” Giles whispered in her ear as he leaned close. He was pleased to feel her shiver in response, and wrapped his arms around her.

“Now, is that the proper respect to show one of your great monarchs?” she sighed, leaning her head back to rest against his chest.

“I don’t think she minds so much. And contrary to what many believe, the Virgin Queen was far from being a prude,” he breathed along her neck. “You were saying something about irony?”

“Irony, right. Um…” she rubbed ever so slightly against him, his pants becoming uncomfortably tight. In principle, he thought he should feel bad about getting aroused in a church near the remains of a once great ruler, but Giles just couldn’t make himself feel bad. Joyce seemed to find her thought. “Right. Elizabeth I and Mary Queen of Scots, rivals in life, and yet they are buried in close proximity to one another. You would think they’d want to keep their distance in death.”

His voice became low as he lectured. “Initially, Mary was buried in Peterborough Cathedral per Elizabeth’s orders. However, James I moved Mary here in 1612 and had her buried opposite Elizabeth. Some would say it was to give her the memorial she deserved.”

Joyce seemed to consider this before she spoke next. “Are you sure it wasn’t so Mary could keep an eye on Elizabeth? Not together, but not quite apart. They may have wanted to be as far away from each other as possible, but things seemed to always bring them back together.”

It took Giles a moment to realize there was a hidden meaning in her words. He turned her to face him, searching her face for some indication of her intent. The words were hitting a little too close to home. He wouldn’t put it past her to try and make a point.

She smiled enigmatically up at him.

“Remind me to never underestimate you, Joyce,” he said finally.

Resuming their tour, they left the Lady Chapel and passed by Edward the Confessor and the Poets Corner on their way to the Cloister. A little chapel lay offset from the Poets’ Corner. Joyce wandered over for a closer look and rejoined him with a slight grin.

“Saint Faith’s Chapel,” she said. “I think Buffy would have to see it to believe it.”

The Cloister was quiet when they entered. Giles and Joyce practically had the stone walkway to themselves.

“So peaceful,” Joyce murmured as they walked, Giles’ arm about her shoulders.

“It’s a wonderful place to come and reflect, when the crowd is at a minimum, of course,” he agreed.

Midway down the South Cloister, Joyce directed their steps close the inner wall. She halted their journey, reaching out to touch the cool alabaster stone. A few moments passed while she seemed to contemplate the wall. Turning, she leaned back against it to look at him.

“You’ll probably think I’m silly, but I just had to see if my mother was right. Having toured Europe in her when she was a girl, she had a lot of stories to share. One of them always made me laugh,” she smiled fleetingly. “Mom said that you could feel the history in the stones. ‘If you go over there, Joyce, touch one of the walls and you’ll see.’”

“And was your mother right?”

“It may seem crazy, but I think she was. Okay, it might not seem crazy to you, but…there’s a feeling there. It’s not just cold dead stone.”

“If these walls could talk, oh, the tales they would tell?” he asked.

Joyce nodded. “A bit like that. There’s more than just great architecture to these places.”

He kissed her then, their tongues brushing lightly as he gained entrance. As the kiss deepened, he felt her moan, the sound reverberating through his body. He pressed her against the wall, seeking closer contact. Joyce arched into him in response.

Hearing footsteps, Giles had enough presence of mind to stop things before they progressed too far. He wasn’t normally one for very public displays of affection, but something about Joyce was suddenly irresistible. Maybe it was the insight she’d gained or the appreciation she’d shown. Or maybe they had been apart too long and he really didn’t need an excuse.

“Have you had enough sight seeing for today?” he asked, voice rich and husky.

“I wouldn’t say I’ve had enough, exactly, but I suppose there are certain enticements for saving some things for another day,” there was a breathlessness to her reply as she pressed against his growing erection. “Do you think the walls have enough to keep themselves occupied for a few days?”

Giles couldn’t help the groan that escaped him then. The woman was the embodiment of temptation at the moment. He glanced at his watch.

“If we hurry, we should be able to beat rush hour at the station,” he said. “Think we can make it?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “But if worse comes to worse, we can always improvise.”

 

 

Fortunately they managed to mix in with the early post-work rush and boarded the Circle Line with little delay. Maybe it was unfortunate, Giles had to admit. He was a bit disappointed at not getting the chance to improvise. Pressed together in the standing room only car, he found it very hard to keep himself in check. Joyce’s wandering hands were making it increasingly difficult.

“While the commute can be a trifle dull, I doubt the passengers would appreciate the show they are about to get if you don’t stop that,” he said, trying to keep his voice normal as her right hand stroked him idly through the lining of one of his pockets.

“Do you think they would mind?” she asked innocently, her actions anything but as the car bumped them against each other when it came to a stop. “How much longer?”

“Two more stations,” he replied, closing his eyes to focus on not taking her right there.

“I think I can live with that.” She withdrew her hand. “Can you?”

The woman was going to bloody kill him. He captured her mouth in a fierce kiss, leaving her breathless by the time he finished. “I’ve survived at least four apocalypses. Ten minutes won’t kill me.”

It actually took them twenty minutes to get back to the bed and breakfast. And five more to get up to their room, because Agnes insisted on hearing a brief synopsis of their day after giving Joyce her messages.

Giles had possessed just enough rational thought to throw the bolt on the room door before pinning Joyce against it and devouring her mouth with a greater hunger than he knew he had. It briefly crossed his mind that they should take things slow after everything they had been through, but then Joyce’s hand wrapped tightly against his bare cock and all thoughts of taking it slow fled.

He had never been more thankful for Joyce’s proclivity for wearing skirts as he gathered the material, pulling it up, seeking her out. As he reached her upper thigh, he was shocked to encounter neither cotton nor satin. Fingers under the material of the skirt, he worked inward and found Joyce uncovered and waiting.

“Jesus,” he groaned, forehead against the door. He twisted his head, tongue darting out to tease her ear as his fingers slid through her wetness. “Nothing. All day. And I didn’t know?”

Her breath caught as he slid first one finger then two into her. Moist and hot, so ready for him.

“Joyce!” he punctuated her name by thrusting his fingers just so. She bucked against him in response, her grip further tightening around him. “All day?” Again his fingers accentuated his words.

“More,” she gasped. Obligingly he added a third finger, thumb toying with her clit. Then with effort she spoke again, “I didn’t tell you because—oh god—because if I did—harder!—we never would have—a little more to the…oh—made it out of the room.”

He felt her tighten as climax neared. No, not quite yet. She whimpered when he removed his fingers.

“Shh,” he hushed, nibbling along her jawbone as he worked his pants down a little farther. Placing his hands on her waist, he kissed her quickly and caught her gaze beneath her half-lidded eyes. “Joyce, love, I need you with me on this.”

Blinking her eyes open, Joyce nodded as she brought her arms up around his neck. “Alright.”

Lifting her up, Joyce braced herself, legs locking against his hips and giving Giles enough time to position his cock before she let her self down, taking him all the way in. He nearly came then, feeling her liquid tightness softly enveloping him.

“Too long,” he murmured, pressing her back against the door and holding still until he regained some control. Then he began to move, Joyce working with him as they built back up.

She arched as he thrust up and in, changing the angle as he plunged deep and hard. Left hand supporting Joyce, Giles’ right moved between them and began to stroke her clit in time with his thrusts.

“Missed you, so much,” she breathed, voice strained.

“Come for me, Joyce,” he coached. “Please, Joyce, come for me.”

Joyce’s eyes went wide, locking with his, before her head fell back and she screamed his name. Her inner muscles clenched around him as she climaxed. Giles finally gave himself over, her name a silent prayer on his lips.  



	4. And There Reigns Love And All Love’s Loving Parts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lazy day in bed.

Strong arms wrapped around Joyce and pulled her close. She smiled, snuggling deeper into the embrace. With the flesh-to-flesh contact of Rupert spooned protectively against her back, there was nowhere else she would rather be at that moment. Sometimes it was nice just to be held.

After nearly two months of uncertainty, things felt right again, or at least on their way to being right again. Many issues remained to be resolved, but they could worry about that later. Such thoughts were better left for another time, when she didn’t have an intelligent and gorgeous man naked and curled around her in bed.

The man in question seemed to be waking up finally. Joyce felt feather-light kisses being placed along her neck and shoulder. Nothing demanding yet, but she could tell by the stirrings against her backside that demanding wasn’t too far off.

Rupert’s right hand began to stroke lightly along her arm, detouring slightly over her breasts before going back and sinking slower, abandoning arm for stomach. His motions were soothing, not rushed, tracing random patterns.

Joyce moaned when his hand delved between her legs.

“I knew you were awake,” his voice rumbled close to her ear.

“And if I wasn’t?” she hooked her upper leg back over his, opening herself up to Rupert.

“You would have been soon,” his fingers slid inside her, making Joyce gasp.

“Twice last night wasn’t enough?” she asked as she arched back into him, seeking more contact, his erection throbbing quite nicely against her rear. It occurred to her that Rupert hadn’t taken her from behind yet. Ethan had a couple of times now, but never Rupert. Just the thought of it added to her arousal.

“Counting the door, it was three times,” Rupert corrected, keeping his pace agonizingly slow. “And, Joyce, there’s never enough when it comes to you.”

Never enough? “Oh god!” she moaned. Fingers so talented, she didn’t want them to stop, but she wanted, no needed to feel him sheathed inside her as well. Maybe… “Rupert, please...”

“Please what, Joyce? Please stop?” his ministrations stilled, voice low and rough, but she grabbed his hand before he could move away. He began fingering her again. “Please what, Joyce?”

“Please . . . more,” she pleaded. “I need to feel more of you.”

“More?”

“More,” she said firmly, ass grinding against his erection for emphasis.

“Joyce, are you certain?” the teasing was gone from his voice now. “I didn’t bring anyth—”

“Check my carry-on. Should be near the top,” she cut him off.

With a quick kiss to her shoulder, Rupert untangled himself and made his way to the bathroom. Joyce tried to wait patiently while he searched, but her body was just too aroused. Of its own volition, her right hand snuck between her legs and picked up where Rupert had left off. Her own small, smooth fingers only tiding her over until Rupert’s thicker, more calloused ones returned. The memory of his touch alone was almost enough to make her come. Battle-worn hands so gentle in their teasing, tracing along her labia, stroking her to almost unbearable ecstasy . . .

She wasn’t aware of his return until his hand wrapped around hers, stopping the movement.

Craning her neck back, she attempted to glare at him but was sure the smile tugging at her lips defeated the look. “You were taking too long.”

“Well, it wasn’t where you said it was. Had to find it for myself,” he captured her mouth. Letting go of her hand, he broke the kiss. “If you’d rather finish yourself off, be my guest. I have no problem watching.”

“Maybe later,” she grinned, grabbing the tube from him and unscrewing the cap. Holding it up to him, “But right now, I had other things in mind.”

“At your command, my lady,” Rupert managed to bow. “If you would be so kind…”

Obligingly, Joyce rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up on her knees. Lightly he began to massage along her lower back and down to her cheeks, moving slowly inward. She couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous while she waited. Rupert was thicker than Ethan after all. Soon she felt a cool, slick finger begin to work its way inside. She shivered in response.

“Are you alright?” The concern was evident in his voice.

“A little cold, but nice,” she replied, keeping her breathing even and relaxing her muscles.

A moment later he added a second finger with easy thrusts, followed soon by a third. The last finger was almost too much, but after the burn of stretching passed, it began to feel quite good. Joyce’s arousal increased in kind. He seemed satisfied and removed all three, only to replace them a moment later with the head of his cock.

“I’m okay,” she answered his unasked question and shifted back as he began to press in, enjoying how completely he filled her. They both exhaled mutual groans when he was fully sheathed.

Rupert’s hands went around her waist, raising her. Satisfied with the position, his right hand again slid down, grazing apart her lips before sinking deep inside her empty center.

Cock and fingers began to thrust alternately, filling her and building her up. Over-sensitized as her body was, she could feel Rupert everywhere.

Joyce reveled in the sensation. God, it was wonderful. Almost as good as when she’d had both of them inside of her.

“Harder!” she cried, pushing the thoughts from her mind as Rupert acquiesced. Not now. She wouldn’t, couldn’t think about that now. Too distracting. Right now she—“Oh god, Rupert!” she screamed, climax crashing through her body without warning.

Joyce vaguely felt Rupert shudder with his own release soon after, so lost was she in the pleasure washing over her.

Finally still, Rupert pulled out, and they both collapsed on the bed, sweaty and spent.

She turned to face him, seeking out his blue eyes between the heavy lids. Reaching her hand behind his neck, Joyce pulled Rupert to her for a deep kiss.

“Thank you,” she breathed, finally, fingers tracing delicately across his features.

He shook his head, “No, thank you, Joyce. I knew that . . . but I never expected . . .”

“It’s nice to do something different once in awhile,” she said.

Rupert smiled back, kissing her quickly. After awhile, Joyce felt her eyes begin to droop. She was just drifting off when his next comment pulled her back to consciousness.

“Agnes probably thinks I’m murdering you up here.” His tone was light.

She blinked at him.

“You are quite the screamer.”

Joyce swatted him lightly for that. “I’m sure Agnes is used to it.”

 

 

 

She woke up to the warm gentle caress of his mouth along the column of her throat.

“Mm,” Joyce opened her eyes.

Rupert glanced up, a wicked smirk on his lips. “I was wondering how long it would be before you woke up.”

“I can’t imagine why I’m so tired,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.

The next thing Joyce knew, Rupert had lifted her into the air and was carrying her to the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” she laughed as he nudged open the door. The laughter quickly died when she saw what he had done. “Oh, Rupert,” she gasped.

The blinds had been drawn to keep out the midday sun, and the room was bathed in the warm glow of a dozen candles lined up around the Jacuzzi. She could just make out the steam in the flickering light. Rupert had drawn her a bath, complete with bubbles.

“Joyce? What’s the matter?” he asked with concern, fingers going to her cheeks. It was then she realized she was crying.

“I don’t think I’ve ever . . . I mean it’s so . . .” She couldn’t find the words. Instead she kissed him hungrily, trying to tell him how she felt that way. “Thank you, Rupert.”

“It’s not much, but Agnes came through in a pinch,” he smiled with relief.

He carefully lowered her into the water. Joyce let out a contented sigh as the heat seeped into her sore muscles. While she might be in great shape, she wasn’t a young woman anymore. Activities took their toll. She leaned back, reveling in the soothing peace the bath afforded.

“Close your eyes and lean forward. This shouldn’t be too cold.”

Joyce did as she was instructed and soon felt tepid water cascading over her head, Rupert’s free hand moving her hair to make sure the water caught it all. His hands moved in front of her as he squeezed shampoo into his palm, then disappeared again as he began to gently work it into a rich lather over her scalp. He seemed to find every spot of possible tension as his fingers massaged along her head, down to her neck and finally along her shoulders.

“You won’t be too offended if I melt, will you?” she queried when he finished.

“I would be offended if you didn’t,” he chuckled. “Close your eyes.”

No worries there. Joyce didn’t think she could keep them open them if she tried. He poured the water over her head a few times, making sure to rinse thoroughly. She heard him rise, and next felt him step into the tub, slipping behind her. He pulled her back to rest against him and she willingly relaxed.

“This is wonderful,” she whispered as they lay there, watching the shadows dance. “I think you may have spoiled me.”

“All goes according to plan,” he said, nibbling lightly at her ear.

“Keep doing that,” she moaned when his tongue began to move around her ear and down along her throat, alternating with faint nips of his teeth.

Threading her fingers through his, she brought their arms to wrap around her.

“Wonderful,” she said again, shifting so he could pay attention to the other side of her neck. “You’re an amazing man, Rupert Giles.”

“Only because of you, Joyce,” he said, voice grown husky. “You bring out the best in me.”

They enjoyed the quiet then, just being with each other. Minutes or hours could have passed as they soaked. Joyce was dimly aware of the water cooling off. Finally, reaching a mutual decision, they rose together.

“Someone needs to invent water that doesn’t cool off. The everlasting bath,” Joyce feigned complaint.

“And no one would ever go anywhere,” Rupert pointed out as he wrapped a thick, fluffy towel around her and helped her out of the bath.

After he had finished drying her off, she drew him close and kissed him. “You’re too good to me.”

“No such thing,” he kissed her back, towel forgotten.

Suddenly, she was in his arms again, being carried back in to the bedroom and set on the bed. He joined her then and started trailing kisses across her clean skin. There was a rumble deep in his throat that vibrated against her skin. She could feel his lips moving, but what he was saying was a mystery. Whatever it was it felt good.

He moved lower, murmuring all the way, pausing to tease the places that made her shiver. And then he was between her legs, tongue plunging in, curling up and dragging along her sensitive flesh as he pulled out. In again, deeper, seeking the one spot that made her hips arc up off the bed. All the way out this time, sliding higher to lave her clit into aching arousal. Building, building, pressing her farther toward the precipice. She came at last, climax tingling through her entire body.

Joyce didn’t think there was a time that she had ever been more completely relaxed.

Crawling up, Rupert stared down at her with a bemused expression. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” she practically purred, rolling toward him. “Very buoyant.”

“I’m glad I haven’t lost my touch,” he kissed her lightly on the forehead, stroking carefully along her temple. Her eyes began to drift shut. “Sleep well, my dearest Joyce, sleep well.”

And she did.

 

 

Afternoon was fading into evening, and Joyce was famished. No wonder, since she couldn’t recall eating a single thing over the course of the day. By mutual agreement, they decided an evening of casual dining was in order. Rupert promised her the quintessential pub experience. Showered and dressed, they headed out into the London evening.

Great beer and overly greasy food, the perfect way to refuel after a day of debauchery.

“What’s your pleasure?” she asked, getting up to head for the bar.

“Besides you, Joyce?” he grinned. “A Guinness. What are you getting?”

“Black and Tan,” Joyce replied.

Rupert seemed taken aback.

“Yes, I do like good beers every now and then,” she smiled. “It’s a pub, what did you expect me to drink?”

“Definitely not that,” he laughed as she went off to order for them.

Joyce scanned the crowd at the bar while she waited for their drinks. While the US and UK were an ocean apart in many ways, the bar scene was definitely not one of them. The one cultural consistency.

Take the man chatting up the raven beauty at the far end of the bar. A gorgeous woman alone in a bar was guaranteed not to be alone for long. While she could only see the back of the man, Joyce envied the woman the attention. Trim and sleek, the man exuded power and self-possession. Wait. There was something familiar about—

The man turned, caught her watching him. His dark eyes grew wide in recognition. And possibly fear?

“Ethan,” she breathed.

She strode toward him, trying to keep her face neutral and ignoring the small twinge of anger and jealousy that flared inside.

“Small world, isn’t it?” she asked coolly.

“Joyce!” the confident mask slid back into place. “This is a surprise.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed, voice even. The woman, she was pleased to note, took her arrival as the cue to leave.

“I’ll hazard a guess and assume you didn’t come to London alone,” Ethan stated. Before she could reply, he spoke again. “Hullo, Ripper.”

Joyce turned to see Rupert behind her, fury making his eyes glitter dangerously. Her muscles, which had been relaxed from the day’s earlier activities, immediately seized with tension. This couldn’t possibly end well.  



	5. Till My Bad Angel Fire My Good One Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giles finds out that getting away from it all didn’t included Ethan.

Giles felt good. He had missed Joyce more than he’d thought. It was nice that they had this time together, alone, away from interruptions. He frowned. That was one of the guaranteed ways to make sure things went horribly wrong, second only to “What’s the worst that could happen?” Shaking off the thought, he realized then that Joyce was taking awhile to get their drinks.

Getting up, he made his way into the bar area to see if things were alright. The familiar man talking to Joyce was enough to set his blood boiling. The bastard had the nerve to show up now when everything was…What’s the worst that could happen? Ethan Bloody Rayne, that’s what.

“Hullo, Ripper,” Ethan greeted him, unflappable and self-possessed as ever.

It took every ounce of restraint for Giles not to reach out and throttle him.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” The question came out in a low growl.

“Just grabbing a pint,” Ethan replied smoothly.

“And I’m supposed to believe this is a coincidence?” Then it occurred to him. He turned to Joyce. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

She blinked, in seemingly shocked to suddenly be the focus of his rage. Maybe if he was thinking clearly…but at the moment logic had no place.

“I knew it was too good to be true!” he seethed.

“What was?” Joyce asked quietly.

“Us! This! I never would have expected you to sink this low.”

“Now hold on just a second, Rupert,” Ethan interceded. “Joyce had no idea I would be here, let alone in England. You might want to get your facts straight before you go hurling accusations.”

He would have hit Ethan had Joyce not stepped between them. She had an air of ice-cold calm about her, the deadly calm before a violent storm hit. His anger fizzled out.

“Do you really think I would manipulate you in this way?” Her tone was flat and betrayed no emotion.

“What am I supposed to think?” he asked, exasperated.

“Do you trust me?”

“Joyce, I—”

“Rupert! Do you trust me?” She emphasized each word.

Resigned, “Of course I do, Joyce.”

“Then how can you accuse me of such a thing?”

“It’s Ethan,” he offered lamely.

Joyce turned to Ethan then. “Well?”

The other man’s confidence seemed to falter under her gaze. “Well what?”

“Did you know we were going to be here?”

“I didn’t even know you had left Sunnydale. I wouldn’t do that to you after—Joyce, I swear I didn’t know.” And Giles would be damned if Ethan didn’t sound sincere. He almost believed the man.

“Alright,” Joyce nodded and finally acknowledged the bartender who, along with several customers, had been watching their exchange. Paying the man, she picked up the drinks. Then to Ethan, “Join us.”

She wasn’t asking. With that she headed back to the table leaving Giles and Ethan to stare after her.

“Doesn’t look like there’s much of a choice in the matter, is there?” Ethan asked quietly.

“It would seem not,” Giles grudgingly conceded.

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry,” Ethan said before he took off after Joyce, leaving Giles with no choice but to follow after.

 

 

 

The table was deathly silent as the three of them sat drinking their respective beers. Ethan seemed about as ill at ease as Giles felt. But Joyce sat calmly, drinking her Black and Tan and watching the patrons.

It was impossible not to think of that morning, months ago, when he’d found Joyce bruised and beaten, only to be thrown out when he went after her attacker. He still had trouble believing she was a willing participant despite her assurances the other night. But what bothered him the most, when he would admit it, that is, was that Joyce so readily forgave Ethan.

He pushed it from his mind.

“So, Ethan,” Joyce spoke at last, still focused on the crowd, “is there anything you want to tell me?”

“Such as…Ah!” He caught her gaze. “No, Joyce, I’ve been . . . good.”

“And that woman?”

What woman? Giles looked from one to the other.

“Flirtation only. And no, there hasn’t been anyone else since I saw you last.”

“No one?”

“No one.” He earned a smile for that.

Giles had no clue what they were talking about.

“You look a bit lost, old man,” Ethan said to him.

“I . . . never mind, it’s none of my business,” Giles returned his attention to his beer, an awkward silence descending upon the table.

“So, Joyce, has Rupert been showing you his old haunts?” Ethan asked casually.

“Um, no,” Joyce blushed faintly.

“Understood,” Ethan grinned wickedly. “Do encourage him to, my dear, you’ll be pleasantly surprised. There was a time when Ripper knew all of the hot spots.”

Giles looked at his old friend uncertainly. “Did you just pay me a compliment?”

“I did say was, but I suppose you could interpret it as such,” Ethan shrugged. “So what hovel have you swept Joyce away to in this fair city of ours? At least a three star establishment, I hope.”

“The Kildare Gardens is not a hovel,” Joyce interjected in the conversation.

“The bed and breakfast in Notting Hill?” he asked. She nodded. “I do believe you still possess some taste, my friend.”

“It was Joyce who—” Bugger it. Giles cursed himself for not being able to keep his mouth shut.

Ethan laughed. “I should have known such impeccable taste had another source.”

Giles grumbled into his beer. No one to blame but himself.

“A bit more elaborate than I had in mind, but I’m impressed, Joyce,” Ethan said to her.

“Thank you,” she smiled. Then to Giles, “And before you get the wrong idea again, this wasn’t some great conspiracy. Ethan just gave me some good advice and I ran with it.”

“Did I say anything?” Giles said defensively.

“No, but you were getting that look,” Ethan said. Then, a bit more serious than he probably intended, “I think you have more to fear from Joyce’s influence than my own.”

In an attempt to turn attention onto Ethan, Giles asked, “You never did say why you were in London?”

“Nothing to arouse your righteous indignation,” he smiled benignly. He finished his beer and stood to leave.

“You’re going already?” Joyce asked, a note of hurt in her voice.

“I think I’ve imposed long enough. Best to leave before Rupert decides that tearing my head off isn’t such a bad idea,” he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “London isn’t all that big, I’m sure I’ll run into you both again.”

Giles had no doubt about that. The odds of winning the lottery were better than those of not seeing Ethan again while in London. So much for it just being Joyce and he.  



	6. All Men Are Bad, And In Their Badness Reign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan pays Giles a visit to ask a favor and draws Ripper out.

Ethan was mad, there was no other explanation for it. If he had any sense at all, he wouldn’t currently be standing outside the Valentine Suite of the Kildare Gardens Bed & Breakfast. A smart man would stay away and not tempt his luck.

He had never listened to reason.

He rapped quickly on the door before he could change his mind. The door swung open.

“Agnes, I assure you everything’s—Ethan!” Rupert, still in his robe and pajama pants, didn’t look angry so much as shocked to see him standing there.

“I do hope Agnes is that charming matron downstairs and not your bit of stuff on the side,” Ethan eyed his friend critically.

“Joyce isn’t here,” Rupert said tersely.

“I know,” Ethan brushed past him into the room. He took in the surroundings. Even nicer than he’d thought. Must be costing Joyce a small fortune.

“What do you want, Ethan?” Rupert shut the door and faced him.

“I thought you and I should have a chat while Joyce was out . . . scouting for new objets d’art I assume?” Rupert nodded. “Smart woman, mixing business with pleasure.”

Rupert lay on the bed and looked at him expectantly. “What do we need to chat about?”

Ethan was surprised at Rupert’s lack of, well, kicking his ass. “You’re not going to throw me out?”

“I happen to be at a loss for a few hours. I figure listening to you ramble is more entertaining than being here alone. And we probably should discuss some things while we have the chance.”

Ethan sat in the armchair opposite the bed. Four-poster. Hm, maybe if things . . .

“Trying to kill me with kindness, eh, Ripper?”

Rupert glared at him.

“I need to ask you a favor,” he said quickly.

He had Rupert’s attention with that. “A favor?” he asked suspiciously.

“Yes I . . . I made a promise to Joyce a few weeks ago. And I need you to help me keep it.” Ethan stopped, trying to find the right words. If he hadn’t run into Rupert and Joyce last night, he might never have asked. But after seeing Joyce’s face . . . If he were a smart man, Ethan would be running from this situation, leave Joyce, and Rupert, behind him for good.

“What is it, Ethan?” God, was that actual concern he heard in Rupert’s voice?

“You know how I get when the power builds up in me and what I usually do to relieve it.”

“Too well.”

This was a bad idea. “Remember how you used to help me when I got like that?”

A shadow fell across Rupert’s face. Again he said, “Too well.”

“I need to know if you’d be willing to do that again.”

At first, Rupert just stared at him. “Why are you . . . what . . . Ethan, are you out of your mind?”

“I just might be.”

Rupert was off the bed and pacing. “Ethan, it’s insane. I—No.”

“Why not, Ripper?”

“Why not? Why not? You need to ask me that after—I can’t do that again. I can’t go back to that place in myself.”

Knowing he was playing with fire, “Didn’t seem to have to much trouble that morning at Joyce’s.”

Ripper leapt at him in an instant. Leaning over he effectively trapped Ethan in the chair. “I can’t,” he said through clenched teeth.

“No, my friend, you can and you do, regardless of whether you want to or not,” Ethan said, calmly baiting the other man. “You’ve done a remarkable job, but repression only works so long. It doesn’t make things disappear.”

“If you didn’t bloody keep showing up, it wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Wouldn’t be an issue? Ripper, you’re a ticking time bomb. If I didn’t show up every now and then, well, I doubt it would be pretty.”

Blue-grey eyes glittered dangerously, but Rupert was still in control. Barely.

Ethan pressed the issue further, “You need to let go as much as I do, Ripper. As much as you fight it, the darkness is there and it’s not going away. It will find a way out, whether you want it to or not. Would you rather take it out on me, or risk the chance that you’ll take it out on Joyce.”

Ripper pulled Ethan up out of the chair by his shirt. “I would never hurt Joyce like that.”

“Would never? Mate, you nearly did that morning. She got in your way. Do you want that to happen again, when you can’t stop yourself?”

“I’d get away from her.”

“She wouldn’t let you. You think I wanted to do that to her? Joyce wouldn’t fucking let me leave. She had to see. She wanted to see,” Ethan felt his ire grow in the face of Rupert’s stubbornness. The man was on the edge as Ethan’s straining shirt could attest.

“Joyce didn’t un—”

“Joyce isn’t a fool, Ripper. She knows neither of us are saints, even though you pretend to be.”

Ripper backhanded him with enough force to knock Ethan down were he not still held up by his shirt. He tasted the coppery tang of his own blood. “Do you want me to kill you, Ethan? Is that it?” Ripper snarled.

“You haven’t been able to do it yet.”

“I almost did.”

Ethan flashed briefly on the month he’d spent in the hospital more than twenty years earlier. Not one of the most pleasant experiences he’d had. Shaking it off, he said, “Well, you didn’t succeed.”

“Not then.”

“Not now either,” Ethan broke free. “You think you can still take me down, Ripper? I doubt it.”

He dodged Ripper’s right hook only to be caught by a left to his gut. Despite the lack of air, he still managed a harsh laugh. “That all you got, Ripper?”

Ripper threw another punch; Ethan ducked and struck back. His friend looked stunned.

“Forgot I could hit back, didn’t you?”

Ripper backhanded Ethan again, knocking him against the fireplace. Strong hands were on his shoulders, jolting him painfully back against the brickwork. Then Ripper’s mouth was on his, swallowing the cry of pain. Ethan didn’t remain passive and attacked in kind. Fisting his hands in the robe, he pulled Ripper tight against himself. He bit down on Ripper’s thrusting tongue, hard enough to draw blood but not hard enough to damage.

Ripper broke away and spat. “That, my friend, was a mistake,” his voice was deceptively light.

Ethan used the momentary pause to shove Ripper off of him. The man stumbled back until he caught himself on one of the mahogany posters.

“You’ve gone soft, Ripper, mate. Was a time I couldn’t do that,” Ethan strode forward. “Maybe I misjudged you.”

Ripper lunged and missed, or so Ethan thought before he felt an arm wrap tightly along upper torso, pulling him back against the body behind him.

“Your overconfidence, Ethan, has always been your undoing,” Ripper hissed in his ear. An instant later his ear was on fire as Ripper’s teeth snapped down.

Ethan willed his body to remain still, hands clenched in fists by his sides. He would not give Ripper the satisfaction of letting him know how much he was affected.

The grip around his chest tightened as Ripper’s free hand snuck down Ethan’s front and stopped at his growing erection.

“Violence always did make you hard,” Ripper chuckled.

Ethan ground backward, Ripper’s thin sleep pants doing little to conceal the man’s own arousal. “Seems like you’re the pot calling the kettle,” his voice came out rough and mocking.

Ripper’s arm fell from around him only to send Ethan sprawling against the foot rail of the bed. He was instantly pinned between Ripper and the bed, the other man pressed against every inch of him—chest to back, cock to ass, thigh to thigh.

As Ripper began to rock his hips, Ethan stifled a groan.

“Such a little whore, aren’t you?” Ripper whispered, hands undoing Ethan’s trousers. “Never care whether you’re fucking or being fucked, just so long as you’re involved. And the more violent, the better, right?” Hand wrapped tightly around his cock, sweat and precum mixing as Ripper’s fist worked up and down. “And you always pushed me a little farther each time, walking away with a few more cuts and bruises, wearing them proudly for days or weeks. You loved being marked.” Ripper bit down on the muscle between the juncture of Ethan’s neck and right shoulder.

Ethan shuddered at the contact and Ripper stopped his ministrations, hand abandoning Ethan’s straining cock. He felt his pants tugged farther down and soon Ripper’s nails dug sharply into his sensitive cheeks. When they let up, fingers were prodding at his rear passage.

“I’m going to fuck you until you’re raw. Raw and aching. And then I’m going to fuck you again.” Fingers spread him without mercy. “Fuck you until all you know is my cock buried in you, stretching and filling you.”

“Yes,” Ethan breathed.

“Yes, what, Ethan?” Ripper’s fingers twisted inside.

“Yes, Ripper, fuck me.”

“Fuck you how?” Fingers were removed, the head of Ripper’s cock pressed at the entrance, waiting.

“Yes, Ripper, fuck me raw. Fuck me until I am raw and aching and all I know is you,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Ripper pushed in then, all the way, nails now digging into Ethan’s hips as he began to move. The strokes were quick, hard, and direct, designed for Ripper’s pleasure and not Ethan’s.

When Ethan tried to give himself some release, Ripper stopped him with a sharp bark, “No!” It was a command that brooked no argument, one that Ethan had learned to obey years ago or blue balls would be the least of his worries. So he gripped the foot of the bed tighter as Ripper pounded into him and waited, fingers clinging whitely onto the wood baseboard, until Ripper chose to grant him release.

 

 

 

True to his word, Ripper fucked Ethan raw. After coming the first time, Ripper paused long enough to tear off what remained of Ethan’s clothes, and using the torn shirt, bound Ethan to one of the posters with his hands above his head.

“Don’t want you to take advantage of things if the opportunity arises,” Ripper smiled coldly, tying the fabric tightly.

Teeth, tongue, lips biting, licking, sucking along Ethan’s neck and shoulders, digging deep, drawing blood. Ethan could feel warm rivulets trickling across his skin.

“I used to do this to you for hours on end, marking every last inch. But I could never get more than a moan from you,” Ripper breathed across his skin, biting down hard enough to elicit just such a moan. “No matter what I did, you never screamed. Liked to hold onto the pain. Revel in it.”

And he was right. The sharp sensations pushing sensory overload only heightened Ethan’s pleasure. Exclamations had to be drawn from him or escaped unbidden when he was overcome.

Ripper pushed into him then, but his pace was less frenzied this time. Ripper’s hands strayed everywhere but where Ethan needed them, tweaking, teasing, scraping across his chest and down his thighs but denying his cock each time he passed by it. Ethan gripped his bonds in frustration.

“Joyce is a screamer, though. She likes to let you know how you make her feel,” Ripper spoke, voice oily slick as his hands strayed closer. “She doesn’t care who hears, lets the passion take her over completely.”

Joyce, breathless and glistening, arching back as she—Ethan shook the thought from his head, not something that would help him at the moment. Now, if Ripper would just move his hand over a little more. Ethan shifted his hips slightly, earning a light brush before Ripper moved the hand away and locked him in place.

“Looks like it wasn’t your hands I needed to worry about,” Ripper said picking up the pace. “Would you scream for me, Ethan, if I got you off now?”

Ethan groaned. Capable of articulating little else at the moment.

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” Ripper nibbled his ear. “Such a shame really. All that tightness has to be getting unbearable. So close and you can’t do a single thing about it.”

Ripper came soon after and left Ethan standing there, still aching with denied release. By the time Ripper untied him and moved things to the bed, Ethan could no longer feel his arms. He barely noticed the pins and needles of returning circulation as Ripper took him a third and final time. Ethan’s need was so great and his arms useless, he could do little more than let Ripper fuck him. As he began to shudder with climax, Ripper brought Ethan off at last. Relief washed through Ethan’s body and he collapsed bonelessly on the bed.

As they lay there after, Ethan could tell the exact instant Rupert returned to himself. The air almost grew heavy with the weight of the man’s self-inflicted guilt.

Rupert started to get off the bed, but Ethan held fast with an iron grip on the other man’s wrist.

“Rupert! Look at me!” he commanded. Rupert did so with resignation. Ethan could almost see the walls going up again. “This stops now.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said tiredly.

“I’m not letting you lock this down. You can’t keep running, Rupert.”

“Ethan, I’m sorry,” Rupert sighed heavily.

“Don’t apologize,” Ethan practically shouted. “Because all that does is adds another stone to your neck, so you can keep wandering around playing the martyr, atoning for your sins.”

“That’s not how it is.”

“No? So you really enjoyed wearing tweed all those years?”

Rupert was silent.

“Did you do anything that I didn’t want you to? That I couldn’t have stopped if I’d wanted to? Did I bait you?”

“I can’t accept it like you can. I can’t like that part of myself.”

“You don’t have to like it, but you do have to accept it. The darkness is a part of you, Rupert. You can’t escape that, no matter how many books or how much tweed you hide behind.”

“Are you trying to save me, Ethan?” Rupert snorted.

“No, I’m trying to make sure you don’t lose Joyce again. Do you know that she actually thought you didn’t want her anymore after what I did?” That seemed to strike a cord with Rupert. “Joyce is a good woman, and neither of us deserve her. I don’t like to see the lady hurt, and if that means I have make you act like a man, I suppose I’ll have to deal with that.”

Rupert stared off, frowning in thought. “I never thought I’d see the day,” he said grudgingly, “but thank you, Ethan.”

“Don’t let it get around. I’ve got an image to maintain.” Then serious, “So, will you help me, the next time?”

“I suppose I do owe you,” Rupert agreed.

“No more guilt,” Ethan said pointedly.

“I’ll try,” Rupert said. He looked at his wrist where Ethan stilled held him. “May I go now?”

Ethan released him. “My work is done.”

He lay back as Rupert went off to the bathroom. Definitely not how he had expected things to go. It seemed like he was the one getting soft. But it was the least he could do for Joyce.  



	7. Being Many, Seeming One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joyce returns from shopping to find a pleasant surprise.

Her excursion to the various art dealers finished sooner than Joyce had expected, so she had decided to get her souvenir shopping out of the way before returning to the room. Pushing open the door, she hoped Rupert hadn’t been too bored stuck in the room alone for the past few hours.

The precariously balanced bags hit the floor with a thud. Two heads turned to look at her. While Rupert looked quite embarrassed, Ethan just grinned like the cat who ate the canary.

Joyce leaned back against the door, shutting it as she took in the scene before her. Ethan sat propped up against the headboard with Rupert between his legs. Well, this was something new. Naked and glistening in the afternoon light, it looked like Ethan had been there for some time.

Finding her voice, “Don’t stop on my account,” she said.

Rupert blinked.

“You heard the lady,” Ethan said pointedly to Rupert.

Rupert hesitated, then with a shrug turned his attentions back to Ethan.

“Oh,” Joyce couldn’t help the moan that escaped at seeing them like this. They looked so good together, complemented one another perfectly.

Eyes scanning over their bodies, Joyce noticed that Ethan was covered with a number of reddish marks along his neck, shoulders, and upper chest. And his right cheek appeared to be slightly swollen. She would have to ask about that . . . later. But for right now, she just watched. Rupert’s head bobbing as he brought the other man off, and Ethan’s head thrown back, eyes closed. Both now oblivious to her presence.

Ethan’s face twisted, and a quiet cry of “Rupert” passed his lips as he came.

After finishing him off, Rupert sat back and watched Ethan come down. “So?” he asked.

“A bit rusty,” Ethan smirked, “but not terrible.”

“Prick.”

Joyce felt like she was intruding. The two men seemed more at ease with one another than she had ever seen them. They must have really worked things out. Last night she was certain the only reason they kept the peace as they did was because of her. It had been a tentative peace at best. Ethan must have come back to finish things. From the marks on him, she would wager Ripper had made an appearance. But whatever had transpired, the outcome seemed to be favorable.

“Are you going to stand there all day, Joyce?” Ethan broke into her thoughts, voice light.

“I, um . . .” Rupert was looking at her as well. Eyes brown and gray blinked patiently, waiting for her response. God, they were beautiful. “Just that I . . .”

And then they were off the bed, walking toward her. Joyce leaned further against the door for support as they approached.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said as Ethan slunk up to her.

He leaned close, making Joyce very aware of how naked he was. “How could I stay away, knowing you were in town?”

She eyed Rupert, who now stood on her right. “Couldn’t wait for me?”

“You honestly think he would let me?” he smirked.

“Leaving the poor man to his own devices,” Ethan tsked, licking lightly at her ear, “you should be ashamed, Joyce. Had I not shown up, Ripper may have died from sheer boredom.”

“Can’t have that,” she sighed as Rupert began to nibble her other ear.

“A good day for business?” Ethan asked, hand grazing up under her sweater.

“Mm, very good,” she said as he began to toy lightly with her breast.

In the meantime, Rupert had unbuttoned her slacks and was now teasing over her satin covered heat.

“No surprises today?” Rupert asked with disappointment.

“I didn’t think it would be appropriate for conducting business.”

“Ah,” he said, fingers dancing lower, massaging her already swollen arousal through the thin fabric.

Ethan unhooked her bra, hands working across her bare skin.

Too much clothing, she groaned inwardly. She needed to feel them both. Joyce tried to remove her sweater, but Ethan and Rupert stilled her.

“Shh, let us.”

Together their hands moved up her body, leaving a tingling heat behind. They each braced an arm over her head, their free hands lifting the neck out and off of her. The sweater slid off the rest of the way with agonizing slowness. They kept her arms pinned above her, free hands working in conjunction to remove her pants and underwear.

Joyce kicked off her shoes and shimmied the garments down onto the floor.

The two naked male bodies pressed close, the flesh on flesh contact exquisite.

Then they were kissing along her jaw line, down her neck, and across her collarbone to each other. The men kissed with the fevered passion they always seemed to have for one another, but the sense of battle was missing. They weren’t competing but enjoying.

Erections throbbing against her fevered flesh, Joyce twitched with need. Something was different between them and she wanted to share in that.

“Make love to me,” she whispered, voice already hoarse with desire.

The kiss stopped and they looked at her, seeking clarification.

“Both of you, please.”

Making their way to the bed, Joyce knelt in the center with Ethan in front and Rupert behind. She held Ethan’s gaze steadily as Rupert worked his way inside with as much caution and care as he had shown her the afternoon before.

“I want you to see how it makes me feel to have you both inside me,” she told Ethan, delicately tracing the lines on his face.

She gave a soft grunt as Rupert pushed in. Ethan captured her lips, tongue tasting her languidly, coercing a response in kind and thus distracting her as Rupert sheathed himself fully.

Rupert pressed firm against her back, coarse hairs tickling her sensitive skin. Not breaking the kiss, she began to guide Ethan inside.

“Still feels good, doesn’t it? Worth finding alternatives?” she breathed.

“As if I needed a reminder,” he sighed against her lips. “So much better.”

“How do you feel, Joyce?” Rupert asked softly, lips grazing her ear.

“Full,” she replied. And then they began to move, stretching and pressing just so. The three let out mutual moans as Rupert and Ethan rubbed against each other inside Joyce.

“Better than the first time,” she rocked with them as they built toward climax. “God, Rupert . . . Ethan . . .” their names became a chant driving them on higher and faster, pleasure growing until all three came with screams of ecstasy.

Three breaths became one as they came down together, supporting one another, no longer separate but whole.

 

 

Joyce lay in the center of the bed, restrained only by a blindfold. She waited, body thrumming as Ethan and Rupert move about the room trying to confuse her, keep her guessing as to which of them was where at any one time.

Ethan had made the suggestion in the first place and Joyce had readily agreed, knowing that the payoff would be well worth the frustration she’d feel, was feeling.

The bed gave as they joined her. Joyce had been counting on Rupert’s somewhat larger build aiding her in her guessing. She should have known better.

Her skin tingled as the first touch. Deprived of sight, and with them making so little sound, it was the only sensation she had at the moment. Lips on either side began working their way up her arms. Joyce thought she would be able to tell them apart, both men having a slightly different way of doing this. Ethan was more sensual, building her, drawing her higher. While Rupert always seemed to worship her skin. Maybe her mind had created the difference, because, not knowing who was who, she couldn’t tell the difference.

Stopping at her shoulders, her lovers backed off, moving away to the far side of the room.

“Which was which, my dear?” Ethan asked, voice silky smooth.

“You were on the left and Rupert on the right,” she ventured, uncertainty obvious to her own ears.

She waited until she felt their weight on the bed again, but the blindfold remained on. Joyce had guess incorrectly. The concept had seemed easy enough at first, but now… Initially she planned on guessing wrong on purpose. That was before she realized what a challenge this would be.

“Let’s make things a bit more interesting,” Ethan suggested after the fourth wrong guess.

“What did you have in mind?” Rupert asked.

Joyce sighed in frustration. Body thrumming, the last thing she wanted was for them to make things more interesting, since more interesting meant more difficult for her.

“A wager,” Ethan said simply.

“Over?”

“Which one of us Joyce guesses correctly least often. One at a time of course,” he added.

“Least often? Don’t you mean most?” Rupert inquired.

“Least is the more difficult way to go.”

“You two talk way too much for your own good,” Joyce harrumphed, lifting the blindfold to glare at them as she sat up. “A lady could be forced to take matters into her own hands.”

“I told you before, I have no problem watching,” Rupert grinned wickedly.

Joyce heaved a pillow at him.

“The outcome could be fun,” Ethan said with a smile. “Wouldn’t that be worth giving it a try?”

“Depends on what the stakes are,” she replied, intrigued.

“How about seeing Ripper in leather?” he offered.

“Now wait just a minute! I—” Rupert started to protest.

“Ok, you have my attention,” Joyce cut him off.

“Since my friend here owes me some new clothes, I believe [believe?] that a shopping trip seems to be in order,” Ethan stated. “The winner of this competition, should you agree to participate, Joyce, will dress the loser for a night on the town.”

“And you’ll make Rupert wear leather?”

“Yes.”

She turned to Rupert, “And if you win?”

“When, you mean,” Rupert said evenly. “Tweed.”

Ethan winced. “I will not be caught dead in tweed.”

“Nor I in leather pants.”

“I never said leather pants, but now that you mention it . . .” Ethan trailed off, making Rupert wince.

“Seems you both have ample motivation to win,” Joyce laughed. “I think I might enjoy this.”

“Agreed?” Ethan held out his hand.

Rupert shook it. “Why do I even try?”

“Game hasn’t even begun and you’re already giving up?” Ethan queried with a hopeful note.

“Hardly,” Rupert frowned.

“Well then, shall we?” Joyce asked and they nodded. Retying the blindfold, she lay back to wait. She had to make sure Ethan won without being too obvious. Seeing Rupert in leather pants was something too rare to pass up.

Ethan and Rupert taking turns should have made it easier to guess which one was which, allow Joyce better focus. So much for trying to rig the game. Either she was too far gone or they were just that good at mimicking each other. Caresses and kisses oddly indistinguishable from one man to the other. Each time as she waited, Joyce tried to clear her mind, review what she knew of the two men. But when the new round began, comparison of what she knew to what was going on was impossible.

If only they would use their hands. Rupert’s were battle-worn rough but loving in gentle caresses, while Ethan’s were smooth but powerful, restrained and worshipful. But they were not using their hands, just lips and tongues and a bit of teeth. Kissing, licking, nibbling her body until all she was nothing but the sensation of them on her.

While coherent thought was misty at best, Joyce realized she kept guessing Rupert and rarely Ethan. She couldn’t think clearly enough to cheat, and it all felt like Rupert.

Lips whispered down her stomach, reciting poetry, sweet nothings, incantations . . . she couldn’t tell and didn’t care. It felt too wonderful to define. Down farther until a tongue playfully teased apart her lower lips and began to work her clit into greater arousal. Tongue darting into her center, lapping at moist heat . . . Joyce writhed, seeking closer contact, but the man pulled away.

Soon Ethan’s tenor cut through the rushing blood in her ears, “Who?”

Joyce groaned. This was almost worse than his “one more time” during tantric sex. He could be infuriating. If she didn’t know better, she would think Ethan enjoyed making her suffer like this. Albeit it enjoyable suffering, but still . . . “I don’t know,” she said tersely.

She heard a pair of rough chuckles.

“This is ridiculous,” she grumbled. “Can’t you just call it a draw?”

“Technically Ethan’s win—” Rupert stopped. “Bollocks.”

“I think you are the one who needs to learn to keep your mouth shut,” Ethan laughed. “Seems to get you into more trouble than mine does me.”

Bickering like two old women yet again. It drove a woman to distraction. Speaking of distraction, Joyce’s hands moved low picking up where her last lover had left off. It wasn’t the same, but that didn’t mean it was bad. She needed some form of release, and if Rupert and Ethan weren’t going to oblige, well then she’d have to fend for herself.

Fingers slid easily along aided by her arousal. Slipping inside herself, Joyce worked to bring herself off. If nothing else, her time with the men this year had taught her a lot about her own body and just what it needed for satisfaction. Thumb on clit, two fingers curled and pressing just right. Silky heat wrapping softly around her fingers—it wasn’t just what she was doing but how she felt to herself that pushed Joyce closer to the edge. She arched of the bed, sighing with relief as she came, room silent except for the sound of blood rushing through her ears.

Finally calmed enough, Joyce removed the blindfold and grinned at the awestruck looks on her lovers’ faces. Looked like their bickering wasn’t all-consuming after all. And from their twitching erections, she could tell they had very much enjoyed the show.

“Jesus, Joyce, you are amazing,” Rupert breathed finally.

“I think we’ve created a monster,” Ethan murmured appreciatively.

Joyce got up from the bed and walked toward them. She wrapped a hand around each of their straining cocks, stroking lightly as she spoke. “Would leather really be so bad?” she asked Rupert, increasing the pressure slightly.

“If Ethan’s picking it out, yes,” he replied, voiced strained.

Focusing her attentions on Ethan.

“As long as Ripper foots the bill, I could restrain myself,” Ethan leaned close and nuzzled her neck.

“Ethan and restraint,” Rupert laughed as he copied Ethan’s actions on her right side, “that I would pay to see.”

“That’s the whole point, Ripper,” Ethan said. “I can restrain myself with the proper incentive.”

Joyce rolled her eyes; they were starting again. “Are you two ever going to shut up? Maybe you’d rather be alone,” she said, pulling away.

She didn’t get far before she found herself pinned between two passion-heated male bodies, Ethan behind and Rupert before. Joyce leaned her head back next to Ethan’s as Rupert kissed along her throat.

“Poor, Joyce, we’ve neglected you, haven’t we, my dear?” Ethan breathed, hands skating soothingly over her body as Rupert kissed ever lower. “We’ve spent too much time alone with each other today.”

“You’re blaming Joyce?” Rupert managed to sound incredulous while peppering kisses passionately over her stomach, tongue briefly teasing her navel before moving on.

“She did leave you alone to fend for yourself. If I hadn’t been around to take advantage, who knows what may have happened,” Ethan retorted, all the while kissing the most sensitive spots on Joyce’s ears and neck.

They were still bickering, but at least they seemed capable of multitasking. Her annoyance at the banter was greatly offset by the lavish attention they were paying her while they argued. If they had tried this sooner, she would have let them bicker the day away and not said a thing.

“Oh god, Rupert,” she sighed gratefully as Rupert’s tongue wiggled its way inside her. His hands stroked calmingly along her thighs as he built her to a frenzy. Ethan’s own ministrations, nipping along her neck, drove her on, causing her to simultaneously press back against Ethan as she arched toward Rupert.

“I thought that was reserved for me,” Ethan said silkily, rolling her nipples just so. He must have seen her confusion, “Against Rupert’s wall . . . I thought I was ‘Oh god.’”

She couldn’t reply. Rupert had redoubled his efforts, leaving her speechless.

“How deep in is he, Joyce? How do you think he feels to have your hot folds wrapping tightly around him, pulling him farther in, seeking more of that rich exotic flavor that is only you?” Ethan began rocking with her, moving in time with Rupert, cock pressed firmly against her ass, pulsing blood enhancing her pleasure. “I envy Rupert, my dear, to be giving you such pleasure and savoring every moment. I wish I were in his position, and he in mine, but I can’t look away as he works. There is something beautiful in his movements, entrancing. Do you see the art in the way he fucks you so?”

Joyce managed to open her eyes and peer down. Rupert’s head bobbing, buried between her thighs. The sight sent her shuddering over the edge, overwhelmed with both sight and sensation.

She blinked dazedly as Rupert stood up in front of her, looking satisfied. Sated, Joyce still felt her body respond. She just couldn’t get enough.

Seeming to sense this, Ethan swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Setting her down, he lay next to her, brushing her wild hair out of her face.

“Enchanting,” he said, voice hushed.

The intensity of his gaze stirred something deep within her. There was something so naked in the look it almost hurt. Unable to bear any more, she pulled him to her, kissing him with unrestrained passion.

She ended the kiss. Huskily she asked, “Will you make love to me while Rupert is in you?”

“You need to ask?” he grinned. “Are you ready?”

“Always,” she said, kissing him again as he positioned himself for entry.

Shifting her hips, Joyce took him in as far as he could possibly go and then held him as Rupert made ready to enter into Ethan. Joyce matched her breathing to Ethan’s while they waited, amazed at how much more she felt things, how much more open she was. Rupert’s entrance into Ethan reverberated through to her, eliciting a quiet moan from her in response.

All three joined finally, they began to move in a primal rhythm. They kissed each other alternately, one mouth trying to enjoy the most from the other two. Six hands moved over sweat-sheened, sex-glistening bodies. They clung tightly to each other as friction grew, pushing them on until Joyce felt her lovers tense as climax took them. She came last, screaming their names reverently.

Now she could rest content.  



	8. For Thee And For Myself No Quiet Find

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shopping fun. Mmm, leather.

“C’mon, Ripper, you can’t stay in there forever,” Ethan called from his seat outside the changing room. Joyce hadn’t joined them, preferring to rest up instead for the night ahead. And he had a feeling she was giving them some alone time together. He and Ripper had been a bit self-involved that afternoon. “Oi, you still alive in there?”

“Barely. If these pants were any tighter,” Rupert complained. “I look ridiculous. No one in their right mind wears these.”

“I’m rather fond of them myself,” Ethan replied.

“Like I said, no one in their right mind wears these.”

“Ha ha. So are you coming out, or do I have to come in after you?”

“Unless you want to pay for the damages, I’d better come out.” There was a lightness in Rupert’s voice that Ethan hadn’t heard directed at himself in years. Maybe things were getting better, after all.

Ethan was saved further thought when Rupert finally emerged wearing simple leather pants in basic black, no frills and just tight enough in all the right places.

“I knew it, ridiculous,” he said when Ethan didn’t speak.

Ethan got up and circled around, taking in the full view. “Quite the contrary, old man. You should wear leather more often.”

“I feel like an arse.”

“Feels to me,” Ethan’s hand slid across Rupert’s leather-clad rear as they stood in the empty changing area, “like it does wonders for your arse. Don’t think I’ve seen it look that good since—”

Since when became irrelevant when Ripper pulled him in for a bruising kiss, pressing their bodies flush, leather doing little to hide the man’s arousal.

“Does wonders for other parts as well,” Ethan murmured, grinding against his friend.

“God, not here,” Rupert groaned, but didn’t move away.

“Your credit’s good,” Ethan grinned wickedly, pushing Rupert back into the dressing room.

“Not sure if it’s that good,” he said, pushing Ethan against the mirror and locking the door behind him. Then he dove in for another fierce kissing, biting at Ethan’s lips before darting his tongue inside.

Ethan battled back and managed to switch their positions so that he had Ripper against the mirror. He was going to have the upper hand here. Sneaking his hand between them, he undid Ripper’s pants and slipped inside. Then broke away with a grumble, “You cannot wear those when we go out.”

“Can’t try the pants on with nothing, can I?”

“Well, I did.”

“Didn’t know if I wanted to buy them.”

“You’re such a priss.” Ethan’s hand worked around the offending material and pulled Rupert’s cock free. Falling to his knees easily despite the new leather, Ethan slipped his tongue along the other man’s erection.

Rupert let out a hiss as his head banged against the mirror.

“Careful,” Ethan teased before swallowing Ripper completely.

“Fuck . . . Ethan . . . more,” Rupert breathed, hips arching toward Ethan.

“Ah ah ah,” Ethan chastised, holding Rupert’s hips back against the mirror. “Be a good boy or I might just leave you like this.”

Fingers threaded roughly through his hair and yanked Ethan’s head back so Ripper could glower at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Ethan said levelly, his right hand grazing up Ripper’s thigh, teasing along his shaft, around his balls to the one spot—Ripper’s knees buckled when he found the spot. “You’re completely at my mercy, Ripper, whether you like it or not.”

Ripper’s grip loosened and Ethan shot his head forward, mouth latching firm around straining cock while his finger rubbed, rolled, and prodded, driving Ripper to the breaking point.

Ethan didn’t stop when the attendant knocked on the door. Instead he worked harder, trying to make Ripper come.

“Everything alright, sir?” a quiet female voice asked.

“Quite,” Rupert managed.

“Is there anything I can get for you?”

“No . . . fine . . . thank you.”

Ethan grazed his teeth lightly up along the shaft until he reached the head. There he stopped, tonguing the head until he could feel Rupert vibrating with restraint.

“Well, let me know if I can be of any assistance.”

He heard Rupert swallow hard. “Right . . . then . . . will do.” As soon as the attendant’s footsteps had faded, Ripper let out a quiet moan.

Soon the man was straining, almost there, so close. Ethan considered holding him off, denying Ripper the release he so desperately needed, but Ethan had had enough of the man’s ire for one day. Instead, he brought Ripper off, sucking hard until he came, swallowing expertly to avoid damaging the leather. Would be a shame to ruin such great pants.

Ethan stood and watched as Ripper caught his breath, leaning against the mirror, sated, with eyes closed. All these years and still beautiful. No wonder Ethan hadn’t been able to stay away over the years, regardless of the consequences. A beating was better than Ripper’s ignoring him. He’d always thrived on the other man’s attention. Maybe a small part of him needed it. No, Ethan Rayne cared for Ethan Rayne and no others. But he kept coming back to this man, seeking him out.

And then there was Joyce. That was where the greatest danger lay. Her strength alone was enough to draw him to her, the power she carried inside called to him. A body that made him ache to think about it, hair that begged to be touched, and a mind that he doubted would ever stop surprising him. He would think he had her figured out but then she’d do something completely unexpected. She was transcendent.

He shook his head. They were doing things to him. It was getting increasingly dangerous for him. If he wasn’t careful, then one day—if it already wasn’t too late.

“What wrong, Ethan?” Rupert asked, looking at him with concern.

“What? Nothing,” he pushed the thoughts away and adopted his usual self-confident air. “Just getting a bit bored here, waiting for you to recover.

“Yeah, well, I’ve had a very active day. That should earn me a bit of leeway.”

“Or maybe you’re just getting too old for this.”

“I’d be careful what I said if I were you.”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Shall we? I’m sure Joyce has to be wondering what’s taking us so long.”

“She probably has a good idea,” Rupert said, doing up his pants and looking them over. “I see you haven’t lost your talent.”

“I’d be ashamed to damage such fine craftsmanship. Hell, if they can give you back your ass, they’re worth saving,” he said casually.

Rupert hit him lightly on his way out of the room. “You think we should pick up something for Joyce? Share the pain.”

“You love the pants and you know it,” Ethan retorted. Rupert just shrugged. “Can’t say that I wouldn’t mind seeing the look on the clerk’s face when we ask if she can help us pick something out for our girlfriend.”

“Our? Finally, learning how to share after all these years?”

“I don’t seem to have much of a choice,” he said, voice more serious than he intended.  



	9. So Long As Men Can Breathe Or Eyes Can See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night on the town—leather, leather everywhere and Giles runs into an old acquaintance.

“I can’t wear this!” Joyce called from the bathroom.

“If Rupert can buck up and wear the pants, I think you can manage as well,” Ethan replied, lounging idly on the bed. “Course, I did have to persuade him a bit.”

“Yes but if you go in there and start ‘persuading’ her, I doubt we’ll get as far as the door tonight,” Giles said, leaning stiffly against the wall, not quite comfortable in said pants yet.

“I thought you’d be all up for that, mate, would mean sparing you the humiliation of going out in public dressed like that.”

“The humiliation being that my arse hasn’t looked this good in years. Amazing how one little compliment can change one’s mind.”

Ethan flashed a devilish smile. “Was my plan all along.”

Neither realized that Joyce had emerged until they heard a subtle, “Ahem.”

Turning, Giles jaw dropped. It appeared Joyce could wear the outfit they had chosen for her, and wear it quite well. Ethan had joined Giles by the time his brain started to function again.

Joyce stood before them, posed confidently but chewing her lower lip in apprehension. She had nothing to worry about.

Ethan had picked out the shirt, a satiny brick red quite similar to the one he often wore. It was unbuttoned just low enough to show a hint of her cleavage. The bottom was tucked expertly into her skirt that ended a few inches above the knee. A small slit on the right side allowed for ease of movement as well as for a peak of lace from her stockings to show. Knee-high black boots with a sensible heel completed the outfit. It was sexy done tasteful.

“It’s that bad?” she asked, uncertain. “I look like I raided Buffy’s closet, don’t I?”

Ethan spoke first. “Hardly, my dear. That outfit has far too much class to be found in your daughter’s closet.”

Joyce frowned. “I think I should be flattered, but . . .”

“Definitely flattered,” Ethan pulled her close for a lingering kiss.

When it ended, she looked at Giles. “What’s your verdict?”

Pressing against her free side, Giles brushed her hair back to nibble lightly at her ear. “You should wear red more often. As for the leather,” his hand snaked sinuously lower, “I don’t foresee it remaining on for much longer if we don’t leave now.”

“So I look okay?” she gasped.

He heard Ethan chuckle. “Okay is a vast understatement,” Giles replied.

“Ravishing is far more appropriate,” Ethan purred, hand grazing across Giles’ as it descended lower.

Giles’ pants had grown uncomfortably tight when Joyce stepped out from between him and Ethan.

The light in her eye was positively wicked. “I think it’s time we left, don’t you?”

Wait, had the nervousness been an act? He looked at Ethan, but the other man just shrugged. This was looking to be a most interesting evening.

 

 

The club was noisy and crowded by the time they arrived. Still they managed to get in without too much trouble. For a middle-aged group, there was an atmosphere of abandon in the club.

“Are you sure they haven’t had any band candy?” Joyce asked over the din.

While the behavior wasn’t quite the extreme it had been that fateful night in Sunnydale, it came a close second.

“Of their own free will,” Ethan replied. “You seem to bring that up an awful lot, my dear.”

She blinked innocently. “Were it not for that I might never have known how good Rupert was.”

“Had you not shown up at the bar that night . . .”

“Yes, please remind me again of how close I came to becoming a Fyarl,” Giles grumbled.

“Turned into a much better evening,” Ethan said, pulling them both close. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

They made their way to an unoccupied corner table. Ethan left them to go order their drinks.

“These pants are amazing,” Joyce grinned, fingers trailing lightly up his thigh.

“A bit tight, but not so bad. No more bets with Ethan, though.”

“Mm, I enjoyed it,” she grinned wickedly. “And the wager isn’t that bad.”

“Not for you, maybe,” he shifted, pants growing increasingly tighter as her fingers played. “Think Ethan would miss us if we left?”

“You just want out of those pants.”

“Your complaint being . . .”

“That they make you sexy as hell,” she said, lips nearly touching his own. “And why have I never noticed how nice your ass was before?”

“It’s the pants, or so Ethan says.”

“What do I say?” Ethan asked, rejoining them.

“That my ass looks good.”

“Not as great as mine, but a close second. Maybe if you hadn’t let things go over the years . . .”

Giles gave Ethan enough time to set the drinks down and take a seat before attacking the other man’s mouth with his own.

“Would you bloody shut up for once?”

“Keep doing that, and I’ll have no problem,” Ethan purred.

“Again?” Joyce looked pointedly at the both of them.

Ethan held out his hand as a peace offering, “Darling, would you care to dance?”

She took it with a smile. “I’d love to.”

“Mind the drinks would you, old man?” Ethan said as he led Joyce out onto the dance floor.

The rhythm was slow and sensual. Giles watched with a small bit of jealousy as Ethan moved Joyce to the music. The man could dance as well as he fucked, which was saying a lot.

Giles realized he was no longer alone. He turned to see a severe looking woman with short, ash blonde hair waiting expectantly. While her attire wasn’t exactly conservative, it didn’t quite fit in with the club either.

“Hullo, Rupert,” she smiled. “You haven’t forgotten me, have you?”

“Cass?” No, one didn’t forget Cassandra Jameson; she wouldn’t let you.

“Cassandra actually, has been for a number of years. Found ‘Cass’ almost as demeaning as ‘Cassie’,” she corrected, sitting across from him.

“Never would have expected to see you in a place like this,” he said evenly, surprised at how friendly she was considering how they had left things. To say she had been upset by his assignment to the Slayer was a vast understatement. “How’s the Council treating you these days?”

“Same as always,” she replied.

“Still shuffling papers then, I take it?” he asked, his attention on the dance floor.

“Actually, things are starting to look up a bit.”

“All of that hard work finally paying off?” Giles commented distractedly. Did Ethan have no sense of decency? He was practically making love to Joyce in the middle of the dance area. Not that she seemed to mind much.

“You could say that.” Then with concern, “Am I interrupting something?”

“What?” he looked at Cassandra. “No, just . . . nevermind. So things are going well for you?”

“Quite.” When she smiled, she was almost pretty. “So what does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?”

“Just ask,” he said, flagging down a waitress. Giles ordered another beer along with Cassandra’s martini.

“So, what have you been up to? Still saving the world?”

“Like clockwork.”

“It was a shame what the Council did to you, after all you’ve done for them over the years,” Cassandra said after the waitress set down their drinks.

“In many ways I think they were looking for any excuse to get rid of me.” He was surprised by the lack of bitterness in his voice.

“The Council’s methods are a bit outdated,” she agreed. “From what I’ve heard your slayer is quite a handful.”

“Buffy is most definitely her own master. She does a good job, though.”

“One of the longest living,” Cassandra said with admiration. “You care for her a great deal.”

“I do,” he admitted freely.

“Enough shop talk. I came here to have a good time, and I’m sure you did as well,” she said, finishing her drink and waving to the waitress for another.

Giles was somewhat taken aback. This was not the same bitter woman he remembered from five years ago. He could tell she was still driven, but had also seemed to have mellowed a little.

Doing his best to ignore the dance floor, Giles set about having a good time catching up with Cassandra.  



	10. Or Some Fierce Thing Replete With Too Much Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night on the town continues—jealousy abounds.

The current song was a light salsa, upbeat and seductive. He held Joyce close as they moved around the floor. It had been far too long since he’d had such an attractive dance partner, or any dance partner, for that matter. Ethan had always enjoyed dancing, but had found little opportunity to pursue it in recent years. Fortunately it was like riding a bike, took a bit to remember, but it was all there.

“Is there anything you can’t do, Ethan?” Joyce asked as he twirled her with ease.

“Never was much of a cook,” he replied lightly.

“That seals it. I can’t be with a man who can’t cook,” she made as if to move away, but he held her in place.

“I didn’t say I couldn’t cook, I just said I wasn’t much of a cook. There’s a difference,” Ethan said pointedly.

“Is there now?” Joyce laughed. “Well, I might have to have you prove that to me sometime.”

“I should be insulted that you’re thinking of food at a time like this.”

“Why? You started it. And what should I be thinking about?”

“Me,” he pulled her in for a searing kiss. Joyce’s mouth opened willingly, inviting him deeper. And still he managed to keep time with the music. That was talent, if he said so himself.

Ethan hadn’t felt so, well, happy for a long time. It was a strange feeling, not one he was used to feeling. Oh, he got a certain joy out of life and chaos, but if he were to be completely honest he hadn’t actually been happy for years now. One chance meeting in a hellmouth bar and his life had gone down an unpredictable path.

Their kiss ended just as the song switched to a contemporary pop tune. He abhorred pop, but hated the idea of getting off the dance floor even more.

“Up for another dance?” he queried, already moving them to the new beat.

“Mm, doesn’t seem you’re giving me much of a choice,” she grinned.

About mid-way through the piece he felt Joyce tense. Something was up. Ethan switched their positions to see what she had seen. Ah, Rupert and some blond chit seemed to be deep in conversation. Territorial. Joyce was jealous.

“You know he has eyes only for you, my dear,” Ethan spoke softly in hear ear.

“And you,” she added, managing to maneuver it so she was facing Rupert again.

“Then what are you worried about?”

“I don’t like her.”

“I never took you for the judgmental type, Joyce,” he said amused.

“Well, surprise, I am,” she bit back.

That was definitely unexpected.

“Probably just an old friend,” he said comfortingly.

Joyce remained silent.

After a few more minutes he’d had enough. He wondered if his and Rupert’s positions were reversed if her response would be the same. Last night at the bar she had seemed upset to see him chatting with the dark haired woman, but not to this extent. Inevitable that feelings would favor Rupert, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Is my dancing that terrible?” Ethan inquired, dipping Joyce low and snapping her back up to press close.

She blinked at him. “No, it’s wonderful.”

“Do you find it dull?” He twirled her quickly.

“Of course not.”

“Then why in the hell are you paying attention to Rupert,” he said, sharper than he’d intended. “If you’d rather be with him, say so.”

“I’m with you.”

“Are you really, Joyce?”

She looked at him stunned. “Yes, I am.”

“Then act like it.”

“Excuse me?” She broke out of his grasp and narrowed her eyes.

A small part of him warned against this, but the larger part was angry, jealous, and hurt. It would not let him back down.

“I’m just a substitute, aren’t I? Enough for a good shag and nothing more.” Ethan could feel his ire rising; he should walk away.

“Oh no, we are not having this conversation. If that is what you think, after everything—” she threw her hands up in disgust, turned on her heels and marched away.

Ethan waited, watching Joyce go. No, she was not going back to him yet. With that decision he was after her. He caught her on the stairs and, grabbing firm hold of her wrist, pulled her after him.

“Ethan, let go,” she struggled as he led her into the dark hallway past the restrooms.

He released her in the alcove near the emergency exit, only to pin her against the wall.

She looked up at him, gaze challenging. Well? it seemed to ask.

Which one of them started the kiss was uncertain, but once it began it only increased his hunger. Ethan poured out every ounce of frustration and rage and, gods, jealousy that he felt into that kiss and felt Joyce respond in kind, nails digging into the back of his neck.

In retaliation, his right hand found its way to her breast. There was nothing kind in the touch. It was hard and possessive. His fingers gripped tightly, thumb rubbing harshly against the already prominent peak. Joyce arched into him in response.

“Like that, do you, Joyce?” he whispered roughly near her ear, before tugging on the lobe with blunt teeth. “Does he know you enjoy it rough? Hard and fast and unforgiving. Does Rupert ever fuck you? Or does he just worship you? Afraid that you’ll break if he lets go?”

She moaned in response, left hand working at his pants. Once free, he felt her fevered hand wrap tightly around his throbbing cock. Tight to the point of pain.

“Jesus, Joyce!” he hissed, nearly overcome by the sensation. Her thumb began to toy with the head, already slick with precum. His balls clenched in response. No, he was not about to give her that satisfaction.

In one quick motion he removed her left hand from his cock, grasped her right with his free hand and moved both so he could pin them above her head.

“I don’t think so, my dear,” he said coolly, managing to hold both of her hands with his left, his right sliding down her body until it could slip up under her leather skirt. The material had little give, but he managed to work it up, grazing over her garters until he reached her center, hot, wet, and completely uncovered. He almost lost it again. “Oh, fuck, Joyce.”

“What’s the matter, Ethan, forget what to do?” she asked sardonically.

That was too much. Two fingers went into her channel with no warning.

“Jesus . . . fuck!” she screamed. Fortunately the volume of the club’s music was loud enough to drown her out to any unwanted eavesdroppers.

“Like that, do you?” He ground his thumb down hard against her slick clit just as his fingers found that one sweet spot deep inside.

“God, Ethan!” she shuddered in response, so very close. Perfect.

He removed his hand and brought it up between them. She looked at him, eyes slightly glazed. Knowing he had her full attention, he proceeded to lick each digit clean, her heady flavor rich and wonderful.

To her gaping expression he replied, “Delicious.”

Her eyes rolled up and Joyce elicited a deep moan. “Need you,” she managed, voice low and hoarse. When he didn’t reply or move, “Fuck me now, Ethan. Please.”

“Please?” he grinned wickedly. “Are you begging, Joyce?”

His fingers traced lightly across her cheek, thumb grazing across her swollen lower lip. She bent her head forward to take the digit in, sucking as her tongue teased around it. Then her teeth clamped down and released.

“Fuck me now!” she ordered.

Unable to argue even if he’d wanted to, and still keeping her hands pinned, Ethan’s free hand moved down to help lift her into position. Joyce’s legs wrapped vise-like around his hips as she took him in, pulling him impossibly close.

“Joyce!” he breathed as the silky, wet heat wrapped around him. She rocked her hips in response, riding him as he stood there lost. Instinct took over and he began to match her with deep, searching thrusts, battling with her for dominance in this game.

In the end, he came first, spending himself forcefully inside her womb. He registered her triumphant smile but couldn’t let it remain. Releasing her hands, his left found it’s way to her clit and soon wiped away the smile as she came with a soul shuddering scream.

There were no words. They clung to each other, silent except for gasping breaths as they came down.

Ethan finally raised his head to look at Joyce. What he saw in her face mirrored his own sense of shock.

“Christ.”  



	11. Sometime Too Hot the Eye of Heaven Shines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the table.

Ethan set Joyce carefully on her feet. As she stood there in silent shock, he set about straightening her clothes.

“Joyce?” he asked softly.

She blinked. “I’m going to go use the restroom. I’ll be right out.”

With that, she left him in the dark alcove alone.

After attending to clean up, Joyce went over to the mirror to make sure she still looked presentable.

Shining eyes stared back over still-flushed cheeks. Her lips were also a little puffy. She looked well and thoroughly ravaged.

Joyce realized that she was still on edge. The violence of her emotions had abated somewhat, but the fierce sense of possession and jealousy still lingered. What was wrong with her? Just because Rupert was chatting with some woman? Why did she feel like she was about to lose control?

Unable to find any answers, she pushed the thoughts away. Joyce washed her hands and went out to find Ethan waiting.

“It didn’t go away, did it?” he asked knowingly.

Sometimes he read her too well. “I think we should probably get back to Rupert,” she said.

He studied her closely, then frowned. “Yes, we probably should.”

Joyce followed Ethan as they made their way back to the table. She wasn’t sure what to think about what had gone on between them. Especially the violence of her response. The sheer aggression she felt while she and Ethan fucked . . . she’d never felt anything like that before. Seeing Rupert with the blond woman had made her feel very possessive suddenly. Like her territory was being threatened. Speaking of which . . . Joyce felt her blood rise again as they neared the table. Not wanting to think too much about the reason behind her feelings, Joyce brushed past Ethan and stalked up behind Rupert.

“We leave you alone for a few minutes and you find yourself someone new?” she said, voice low and seductive, biting at his ear. “Couldn’t you wait your turn like a good boy?”

She sat on Ethan’s lap as both men gaped at her. The woman was unreadable.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend, Ripper?” Ethan, the first to recover, prompted, taking charge of things. Calm as he sounded, Joyce could feel the tension running through him, the feather-light touches of his fingers ghosting across her thighs increasing in intensity.

“Joyce Summers. Ethan Rayne. I’d like you to meet an old colleague of mine, Cassandra Jameson,” Rupert said.

“Summers?” Cassandra inquired. Then with a laugh, “It’s a good thing you’re no longer with the Council, Rupert.”

Council? Joyce liked this woman even less.

“For a number of reasons,” Rupert said flatly.

Cassandra nodded. “Of course. So, Joyce, Rupert tells me you work at an art gallery.”

“Own, actually,” Joyce returned coldly.

“Impressive.”

“I like to think so.” Joyce felt Ethan squeeze her thigh. She turned to glare at him. “Play nice,” he mouthed. Frowning, she turned back to Cassandra, “You’re a Watcher then? That must be difficult.”

“An uphill struggle for the most part, but it will be worth it in the end,” she said, her voice proud.

“Cassandra, if you’ll excuse me for a moment,” Rupert stood. “Joyce, would you care to dance?”

“I’m not really . . .” she stopped, reading his look. He was not happy. “Sure.”

As they took the floor, Joyce spared a glance back at Ethan who was already carrying on a conversation with Rupert’s friend.

“Joyce, what’s going on?” There was concern in Rupert’s voice, and maybe just a touch of anger.

“Nothing,” she said lightly, looking anywhere but at Rupert.

“Joyce, look at me,” Rupert said in a voice that brooked no argument, so she did. “Cassandra Jameson is an old friend, that’s all.”

“Like Ethan is an old friend?” she asked tersely.

“No,” he said firmly, but she noticed a shadow pass across his face.

“You were her lover!” Joyce exclaimed.

“It was a long time ago, back in the Academy,” he answered with resignation. “And a mistake.”

Joyce just shrugged.

“Is there something else? You don’t seem quite yourself. Did Ethan—”

Fuck me hard in a dark corner, yes, yes he did, she wanted to say. Instead, “No. Ethan’s fine. And a much better dancer than you,” she said realizing they were standing still.

She cringed at the look of hurt that crossed his face.

“Rupert, I’m sorry, I just . . .” Joyce pulled away. “I think I need to go get some air.”

Leaving Rupert and his protests behind her, Joyce fled past the bathrooms and alcove out into the dark back alley.

What was wrong with her? Joyce leaned shaking against the cold brickwork. She wasn’t being fair and she knew it. But there was something about Cassandra Jameson she didn’t like on sight, literally. And then talking to her had only made things worse.

It wasn’t like her relationship with Rupert was exclusive or anything. Early on they had laid that out. But for her, at least, it had been. Not by any conscious thought. She just didn’t desire men who weren’t Rupert or Ethan.

She began to pace. Things had finally started going well and then this Cassandra woman had to show up and . . .

The door creaked open behind her. Probably Rupert checking up on her.

“I’m fine really, I just need some—” When she felt the light weight of a hand on her shoulder, Joyce realized it wasn’t Rupert. “Cassandra.”

“Joyce,” the woman nodded, removing her hand. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but I wanted to see how you were. Did I do something to offend you?”

Where do I begin? “No, of course not.”

“Rupert is an old colleague, nothing more, I assure you.”

“But used to be more,” Joyce said, trying very hard to hang on to the calm she had nearly regained.

“Yes, when we were still practically children. But we found we got along better as friends,” Cassandra explained. “You’re a very fortunate woman, Joyce. He’s a good man. Couldn’t keep his eyes off you while you were dancing with . . . Ethan, was it?”

“He couldn’t?” she asked, too much hope in the question for her liking.

“I just thought you’d like to know.” Then after a pause, “Well, I should probably get going.”

“I’m sorry, Cassandra, I didn’t mean to—”

“You had every right. And I wouldn’t leave, except there are some things I need to take care of tonight. Shouldn’t have stayed as long as I have as it is,” Cassandra cut her off. “Should I send Rupert or Ethan out here?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Just need to clear my head a bit more.”

“Understood. It was good to meet you tonight, Joyce,” she said, before leaving Joyce alone in the alley again.

Joyce still didn’t like Cassandra, but she did feel bad about how she had treated the other woman. Oh well, what was done was done. There was nothing she could do about it now except for feel like a fool. Well there was something she could do. Go in and try and salvage the evening with Rupert and Ethan. She could probably find a way to make it up to them.

She had her hand on the door to reenter the club, when Joyce heard a crash behind her in the alley. Living in Sunnydale had its benefits. A quick glance into the shadows behind her was more than enough to convince Joyce to get inside fast. She pulled at the door. Only it didn’t open. Wonderful, probably locked from the inside. Maybe it wouldn’t have been a bad idea to have had Cassandra send one of the guys back.

Well, there was nothing for it, she would just have to go round to the front of the club. Hopefully it was just a stray cat. She knew that was a foolish hope even before she turned around and saw what had caused the disturbance.  



	12. With Mine Own Weakness Being Best Acquainted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble Sunnydale style.

Giles returned to the table because there really wasn’t any other option. Even he knew better than to chase after Joyce right now.

“I think I’ll take that as my cue to leave,” Cassandra said as she approached. “I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble, Rupert.”

“Cass, you don’t need to—”

“It’s the right thing to do. And it’s getting late as it is. Not all of us are on holiday,” she added lightly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. These things happen,” she put a hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

“It was good seeing you again,” Giles said genuinely.

“Same here. Take care of yourself,” Cassandra smiled. “And, Ethan, it was a pleasure.”

Ethan waved with a faint smile.

When Cassandra was gone, and Giles had sat down, Ethan spoke at last. “Things went well with the lady, I see.”

“What’s wrong with Joyce, Ethan?” Giles was at a loss.

“What’s wrong with her? Oh, Ripper, your powers of observation fall short yet again,” Ethan tsked. Giles glared at him. “Fine. If you’re too thick to figure it out, our girl felt a bit threatened tonight.”

“Threatened? By whom?”

“Jealous,” Ethan clarified. “Your watcher friend was encroaching upon Joyce’s territory, and she did not like it one bit. Can’t say I cared for it much myself.”

“She had nothing to be jealous of!” Giles said in exasperation.

“Didn’t she?”

“Are you both daft tonight? Of course not!” Giles studied Ethan closely and the answer dawned on him. “It bothered you, didn’t it? Joyce’s reaction.”

Ethan shrugged.

“It did!”

“You seem surprised.”

“Well, yeah, I am.”

“You’re an idiot, mate. Why wouldn’t it bother me that she cares more for who you share your company with than who I do?”

“Cares more for—You really have gone crazy, haven’t you?”

“Like you haven’t thought about it. Tell me it didn’t bother you when she was out dancing with me. Or that it doesn’t sometimes make you jealous when I’m with her and you aren’t.”

Giles considered Ethan’s words carefully, letting them sink in. Sometimes he really hated Ethan’s keen sense of observation and perception. “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t,” he conceded finally. “And I’ll tell you this, there are times, Ethan, when I’m not quite sure which one of you I’m more jealous of.”

Ethan’s drink stopped midway to his mouth and he set it back down, eyes narrowing. Then he laughed, “Good show, Ripper, you had me going there for a second.”

“I wasn’t joking,” he said firmly, not surprised Ethan didn’t believe him. Might be better if he didn’t.

“You weren’t, were you.” Ethan said soberly, giving Giles an indication of how much the words had affected him.

“I don’t think I realized that until today. I’m on this trip with Joyce, but I resented her being here when she came back this afternoon. You know I actually enjoyed being with just you for a change. And I think Joyce picked up on that. Maybe that’s why she’s been acting like she has tonight.”

“I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink, Rupert.”

“You started this topic of conversation.”

“Actually, Joyce started it but—” Ethan’s face fell. “Where is Joyce?”

Giles snapped to attention. “She should have been back by now.”

“She went out back, right?”

“Right.”

They were both on their feet and pushing through the crowd toward the back exit.

“I’d like to think you really pissed her off, Rupert, but—” Ethan ran into Giles, shoving him hard against the door.

“It won’t budge,” Giles explained, winded.

“Did you try pulling the door open?”

“It’s a push door, I’m not an idiot.”

They heard a scream. Looking at each other, “Joyce!”

“Move,” Ethan brushed past him. Closing his eyes, he raised a hand to the door. A moment later the door exploded outward.

Giles emerged in the alley behind Ethan to find Joyce backing away from a lumbering demon. Sensing them, the demon turned its ram-horned head and growled gutturally. Giles had enough time to register the relief on Joyce’s face before the creature charged at him and Ethan.

Giles dove and grabbed for the nearby door bar he had spied as the creature lunged at him. Standing, he brandished the metal as a makeshift weapon, getting between the creature and Joyce.

“Would you bloody do something about this, Ethan!” he screamed, thwacking the demon alongside its head. The angry roar told him that probably wasn’t the smartest move.

“Joyce, are you alright?” he heard Ethan ask behind him.

“I think so,” she replied uncertain. “What is that thing?”

“Fyarl,” Ethan said simply.

Giles groaned. Of course it would be a Fyarl. “Is this your idea of a joke, Ethan?”

“Yes, I like to sick Fyarls on all of my lovers,” the man replied dryly. “You have to admit it is quite amusing. Do you feel like you’re looking in a mirror, Ripper?”

“Ha bloody ha. Would you shut up and do something?” Giles shouted, ducking a sweeping blow from the Fyarl.

“Joyce, my dear, you wouldn’t happen to have a bit of silver on you by any chance?” Ethan asked.

Giles heard a snap that fortunately had nothing to do with the blow he had taken on his right side. “Will this do?” he heard Joyce say.

“It’ll have to.”

He turned to see what was going on and was nearly knocked down by the demon. Probably a good idea to keep an eye on the task at hand. He’d find out soon enough what his companions were up to.

Silence from all but the Fyarl who was now raging in some gravelly language at having Giles elude it’s grasp yet again. Then Joyce cried out, “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Trying to save our asses,” Ethan said. “Now if Rupert would be so kind as to move out of the way.”

Obliging, Giles hit the demon once more and twisted out of the way. He heard something whiz through the air near his head and looked up to find a very stunned Fyarl with a silver barrette buried in its eye. Giles backed up to join Ethan and Joyce as they waited, and waited. Finally the Fyarl grabbed at the offending object and let out a scream of rage.

“I thought silver worked instantly,” Giles said watching the demon thrash about as it tried to remove the barrette.

“Could be it’s not pure silver,” Ethan offered.

“For what I paid, it is most definitely pure silver,” Joyce interjected, wincing as the creature roared again.

“Well, my dear,” Ethan grinned, “it appears you were mistaken.”

Joyce turned on him, “I’ll have you know that—”

“We can discuss the finer points of silver knowledge later,” Giles interrupted, “but we have more important matters to attend to at the moment.”

The important matter decided that this was the prime opportunity to charge. But in mid stride it suddenly dissolved. One minute the Fyarl was there, and in the next it was nothing more than a puddle of green goo on the ground.

They all exchanged stunned looks.

“They don’t normally do that, do they?” Ethan said, walking tentatively forward.

“Usually they just fall over dead on the spot, leaving a corpse behind,” Giles said thoughtfully.

Ethan bent down and studied the green puddle. He looked up with a frown. “Ectoplasm.”

Giles went in for a closer look. “Fascinating,” he said, poking at it with the bar.

“Would on of you mind telling me what the hell is going on?” Joyce said, her voice heavy with annoyance.

“It seems someone was trying to send us a message,” Ethan explained. Catching Giles questioning look, “And I know what you’re going to ask, but no, while I have many enemies, this isn’t quite up to their standards. Impressive but . . . well, lacking.”

“So if it wasn’t a demon, what was it?” Joyce asked, peering down at the puddle.

“An illusion,” Giles stated simply.

“That can fight back?” she looked at him like he was crazy. “It seemed fairly real to me.”

“Oh, it was very real, just not really a Fyarl,” he explained.

She shook her head and looked to Ethan for a better explanation.

“Basically, the ectoplasm gives the illusion substance, makes it more real,” Ethan answered. “I’m sure Rupert could give you the detailed metaphysics of it all, but that’s the basic gist of it.”

“And the power to conjure an apparition like this . . .” Giles trailed off in thought. “I think it’s best we get out of here.”

“The sooner the better,” Joyce said, voice heavy with meaning, as she leaned down to pick up her barrette. Pausing, “Is it alright to touch this?”

They both nodded.

“It’s harmless now,” Ethan said. “The energy’s gone.”

After Joyce retrieved her barrette, they turned and headed out of the alley. Giles looked back one more time at the puddle, not liking the unsettling feeling it gave him. So much for an uneventful vacation.  



	13. As An Unperfect Actor On The Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of the evening have set the stage for some interesting revelations.

The click of the closing door was like a gunshot in the quiet room. There hadn’t been much conversation since they left the alley to head back to the bed and breakfast. Rupert had muttered to himself a few times about the creature in the alley. Ethan was silently watchful of the dark as they walked. And Joyce tried unsuccessfully to ignore the thoughts that plagued her, of which being attacked was the furthest thing from her mind.

The uncertainty that had haunted her while she had been on the outs with Rupert had returned full force. First seeing Ethan with the woman in the bar the other night, and then Rupert talking with Cassandra, just talking with Cassandra . . . She wasn’t turning into one of those women, was she? One who saw all other women as threats to her position?

And what was her position? As she and Rupert had laid things out all those months ago, this wasn’t an exclusive relationship, and therefore she wasn’t in any position to make demands or claims. She had agreed to the terms, set them down even but . . .

“I can’t stand seeing either of you with someone else,” Joyce spoke suddenly and loudly, surprising herself with the vehemence of the statement. “Maybe that makes me selfish. I tried to be big about it, but I don’t like the thought of having to share either of you with someone else.”

They looked at each other, then at her, equal pictures of puzzlement.

She was standing alone in the middle of the room. Rupert stepped toward her, “Joyce, if this is about Ca—”

“Stop,” she said firmly, closing her eyes. “This isn’t about her. It’s about us. All three of us. No, that’s not right either.” She paused, searching for the right words. Finally she opened her eyes and looked at them levelly. “This is about me and what I thought I wanted and finding out that I want something else.”

“What do you want, Joyce?” Ethan asked neutrally, his face an unreadable mask.

“You,” she said pointedly. Then to Rupert, “And you. No one else.”

“And you think it’s different for us?” Rupert asked, eyes sparking.

She shrugged, not knowing how to respond. What really surprised her was that Ethan didn’t argue with Rupert.

He seemed to read her thoughts. “For once the man makes a good point.”

Even Rupert seemed taken aback.

Ethan walked past her toward the balcony. He stopped and seemed to lose himself looking into the darkness. “As Rupert can attest, I have never been what one would call faithful,” his voice was very low. “But since this all began, there haven’t been any others. Not for quite some time, actually. Shocking, isn’t it, Ripper?” he glanced over his shoulder at his friend.

“No more so than anything else I suppose,” Rupert acknowledged.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Ethan continued calmly, “but I like to think my opinion counts for something. You two seem to have this understanding that I had no part of. How do you think that makes me feel? Not knowing, not sharing in that?”

“But that was months ago!” Joyce protested, taking a step toward him before thinking better of it and remained where she was. “Not more than a week after that first night, when it still looked like maybe it was just a one time thing.”

“And after?”

Rupert spared her replying, “I’m not sure about Joyce, but I know I haven’t thought about it until now. Accepted it as a matter of course.”

Ethan made a noncommittal noise and turned back to the window. After a few moments of silence, “You know what hurt, and it really shouldn’t have, but . . . nevermind.”

Joyce caught Rupert’s eye, questioning. She was on the verge of pressing Ethan to finish when he continued.

“No, not nevermind. We’re being honest here tonight, aren’t we?” He faced them again. Everything was there for them to see. Ethan open and emotionally naked before them. Looking directly at Joyce, “The first time I saw Rupert not use any form of protection with you, and knew that it was out of some mutual agreement. Made things a bit too clear, though I didn’t want to admit it then.”

“That I trusted him more than you,” she said, not needing to ask.

“Which was very wise on your part, my dear. Still would be,” he added. “Safer not to trust me.”

“Safer for whom?” Rupert asked pointedly.

“You of all people have to ask?” Ethan replied tiredly.

Rupert shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

“You don’t trust yourself,” Joyce commented, knowing she was right.

“I know myself, better than anyone else,” he didn’t argue. “Save Ripper. At least, he used to have a good idea.”

“I know what you’re capable of,” she cried out in near frustration. “Experienced it firsthand, didn’t I?”

“That may be, but it was still mild compared to . . . other things I’ve done.”

“I would be surprised if it wasn’t,” she admitted freely. “You need to understand one thing, Ethan, I don’t give my trust easily, to anyone. Not anymore. Regardless of what they have done or are capable of doing.”

“That bastard really did a number on you, didn’t he?” The question came from Rupert, heavily laden with anger.

Joyce cringed inwardly. She did not need to revisit things with Hank on top of everything else tonight. “Rupert, not tonight,” she pleaded.

His features softened somewhat as he approached her. Caressing her cheek lightly, “I’ll never understand how he could hurt you like that. Couldn’t he see what he had?”

Rupert’s voice was filled with so much shock and concern. And his eyes held so much lo—Oh god, no. No, no, no, no, no. Not yet. Not—no. She backed quickly out of his reach, seeking Ethan out to ground her. But there was no help there either. While his expression was a bit more closed off than Rupert’s, Joyce could still see hints of similar emotion there.

She needed to get away. Too much.

Without any preamble, Joyce turned on her heels and ran into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. This night had gone beyond any of her wildest imaginings. A fun night out, that was all it was supposed to be. And then it had gone to hell. Maybe something like this could only work behind closed doors.

Sighing, she leaned against the door for support. On top of everything else, her mind didn’t need to delve into that topic tonight. And yet . . .

If this wasn’t just some casual fling, or an occasional good time, what was it? Deep feelings running between three people, leading to something serious . . . But how serious could thing get between them? Jealousies were bound to flare and wouldn’t imbalance eventually drive them apart? Was it even possible to make something like this work?

No more thinking. If she thought anymore, Joyce felt that she might possibly go crazy. Especially after seeing how deeply both men felt.

She couldn’t hide in here forever. She had to go out and face them eventually. The key was to clear her mind. Not think about—Taking a deep breath Joyce turned the knob.

Emerging from the bathroom, Joyce walked purposefully to the center of the room, not looking at either of her lovers. Stopping halfway between them, “Fuck me,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Fuck me. I don’t want to think any more tonight. Please, just fuck me.”

Part command, but mostly a plea. She needed comfort, reaffirmation, a reminder of why it did work, how good it felt to be with them.

Ethan was the first to approach, turning away from the dark night. His hand hovered beside a stray curl, hesitating in the familiar gesture. Finally a single finger threaded through and tucked it behind her ear.

“No more thinking,” he rasped as he leaned in and kissed her lingeringly. It was far more gentle and tender than any he had given her before. Any doubts she may have had about how deep Ethan’s feelings were quickly dissipated. What he carefully tried to hide came across loud and clear through his actions. Oh! Joyce felt the panic begin to rise again and threaten to take over. She quashed it immediately with iron-hard resolve. No more. In response, she gave herself over completely, opening up to Ethan, taking him in, letting him overwhelm her completely.

Joyce was dimly aware of Rupert’s arms wrapping around her from behind, holding her close as Ethan still kissed her.

“There will be no fucking tonight,” Rupert whispered in her ear before he began tracing a delicate path along her neck with ghostly murmurs of his lips.

She didn’t deserve this. They were far too good to her.

Working his way into Rupert’s embrace, Ethan pressed close. Breaking the kiss, “There is to be no more worrying, dear girl. No more for tonight, agreed?”

She nodded in silent agreement, head dropping back against Rupert.

Soon both lovers were wrapped around her, each worshipping a side in their own ways. Rupert mumbling reverently and Ethan teasing tenderly but with intent. How had she ever got on without them?

With a combination of skill and subconscious coordination the three managed to divest each other of their shirts and Joyce her bra. Bare skin to bare skin to bare skin, contact with both front and back, she was lost in the intimate sensation of the uncovered flesh of two male bodies surrounding her. It was both sensual and soothing, arousing and calming her at the same time.

And then there was the leather, constricting and hot, but thin enough to feel everything through. A second skin that concealed and revealed at the same time.

But eventually the leather joined their respective shirts, pooled at their feet. Sandwiched nude between her naked lovers, Joyce finally succeeded in not thinking anymore.

A tangle of limbs, hands and fingers everywhere seeking out, stroking, brushing, groping . . . They lost themselves in each other, in sensation.

Joyce felt herself hoisted into the air by one of her lovers and carried to the bed. Blinking hazy eyes into focus, she looked up into Rupert’s face, eye color nearly absent with arousal and a small smile tugging at his lips. God, he was gorgeous.

Her trance was broken by a light kiss on her left shoulder. She turned her gaze upon Ethan, whose dark eyes stared unblinkingly back. Here was a man of great confidence who greatly underestimated his capacity to do so much good for those he was with. He didn’t like to be vulnerable, and yet he didn’t run away when he realized he was.

She pulled her lovers to her so that they lay even on either side and reveled in their calming kisses and caresses, feeling the darkness of the evening finally pass.

“How will you have us, dearest Joyce?” Ethan nipped lightly at her ear. “We are here to do your bidding.”

Two hands from two lovers ghosting down her stomach, between her legs, and grazing apart her labia, working together to give her pleasure.

“Amazing,” Rupert breathed, slipping one finger inside. “You have no idea how amazing you are.”

Rupert stroked slowly inside while Ethan teased outside, and then they switched. Each man had his own technique and touch. Both so skilled and knowing. They both knew what she needed so well.

“Like this,” she gasped. “Just keep doing this.”

More would come later, for all involved, but for the moment, just having them touching her was enough. Working in concert, seemingly of one mind and goal. Slipping around each other, trading places, slowly building her higher. Joyce relaxed and let go. There was only Ethan and Rupert and sensation. And when she came at last, her mind was blissfully blank.  



	14. To Take A New Acquaintance Of Thy Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when Ethan doesn’t slip out before sunrise.

Ethan awoke instantly, the aftershocks tingling electrically over his skin. Something had disrupted the wards he’d set up at the Summers’ household. Something powerful. Extremely powerful.

He looked down at Joyce, sleeping peacefully. Of course she was. She wouldn’t have felt it. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe—he stopped the thoughts cold. Ethan had never been one to lie to himself. Others, yes, but never himself. He knew what he knew and he was what he was. Something had happened, of that much he was certain. Now, what exactly that something was was another matter.

And the power! It wasn’t just the disruption of the wards, but the spell or whatever it was that had broken through them. Closing his eyes, Ethan focused in. Chaos. Oh, so much chaos. But hidden, very well. Carefully concealed behind order.

Joyce stirred pulling him back. He looked at her again, still seeming asleep. Ash blond hair spread across the pillow, hiding her face as she lay on her stomach, her left arm holding him close. One tan shoulder exposed, enticing him, begging attention. What was the call of chaos next to the draw of the gorgeous woman beside him?

Moving carefully, he placed a delicate kiss on the bare skin.

“Mm,” Joyce purred, blinking her eyes open to smile at him. “Good morning.”

He smiled in return. Gods, she was beautiful.

“You’re still here,” Rupert rumbled behind him, surprise evident in the statement.

“Disappointed?” Ethan asked lightly.

“No, not disappointed,” the man replied, wrapping close against Ethan’s back.

Well, this was interesting. Joyce usually wound up in the middle by default. Maybe they had done it to keep him from slipping out on them. Or maybe . . .

Rupert bit lightly at the juncture between Ethan’s neck and shoulder, causing him to arch back with a groan. He felt Rupert’s tongue trace carefully over his marks from the other day, soothing, before reaching an unmarked patch and biting again.

And Joyce’s hand was no longer resting quietly on his waist. It had snuck down to tease along his growing erection. He shuddered in response to the soft contact of her gentle fingers against the sensitized flesh.

“Joyce,” he breathed, reveling in the heat of her small hand tight around him.

She was on her side now, facing him as she calmly stroked, eyes dancing. “Yes, Ethan?” the question came out in a low purr.

He wanted to reach for her, pull her tight against him, bury himself deep inside—but he found himself restrained. Rupert held Ethan’s right where it was, resting under his head. Ethan’s left which had lain unsuspectingly against his side, was now trapped there, Rupert’s fingers interwoven and holding him in place. Slowly, Rupert drew Ethan back until he lay almost but not quite on his back against Rupert.

Taking this as a cue of some sort, Joyce removed her hand and leaned in to kiss him, deep and slow. Pulling back, she licked her lips. “It seems we have you at our mercy.”

“You’re just figuring that out?” he asked lightly, realizing too late how revealing that one little statement was. “What do you plan on doing to me?”

“And spoil the surprise?” Ripper’s blunt teeth nipped at his earlobe. “You like surprises don’t you, Ethan?”

Wasn’t that chaos in action? So why was he resisting? “Depends,” he replied.

“Oh, Ethan,” Joyce shook her head and kissed him again, then began to descend along his throat and to his chest, careful that lips and tongue were the only parts of her that touched him. By the time she began to lave one of his nipples into an aching pebble and bit down hard enough to send a mixture of pleasure and pain shooting through his body, Ethan’s cock was straining for contact of any kind. But neither Joyce nor Rupert seemed inclined to do anything about it. Rupert’s own erection pressing against his back, tight enough that Ethan could feel the blood pumping, didn’t help matters any. And Joyce moved as if she had all the time in the world, seeming to savor every square inch between his chin and navel. It was torture, however sweet the guise.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he managed to keep his voice strong.

“There are worse ways to die,” Rupert rocked his hips once.

Ethan bit back the moan that threatened to escape. A smart man would give himself over, admit defeat. But while Ethan could play the submissive without a second thought, he always retained a modicum of control. Even bound to the bed, bleeding, desperate for Ripper’s touch, he still had had some control. Sandwiched between his two lovers, one now agonizingly close to where he desired the most attention, he felt that control sliding out of his grasp.

He wasn’t sure he liked the feeling. No, he definitely didn’t like it. If he—Ethan began to struggle. He needed to get out, now before things went too far.

Rupert held firm, right leg wrapping over Ethan’s, locking him practically immobile. “Shh,” he said soothingly, contracted muscles straining to keep Ethan where he was.

Joyce had stopped and pulled back, her right palm rested flat against his chest, over where his heart had started to race in panic.

“Ethan,” she said, the command even and without any hint of playfulness. “Ethan, look at me.”

Eyes which had been darting wildly, searching for escape, honed in on Joyce's, so open and accepting, stilling his in their erratic journey.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Ethan.” Her eyes saw through him too well. She wasn’t supposed to be able to do that.

“Nothing?” he said with quiet incredulity.

“You’re safe with us,” Rupert replied, fingers flexing and reaffirming their intimate weave with Ethan’s. “Let go, Ethan.”

“Too much,” Ethan screwed his eyes shut, seeking refuge deep inside. But it only served to bring the roiling internal struggled into sharper focus. What in the hell was wrong with him?

“Ethan,” Joyce’s voice was sharp, snapping him back to attention.

“I can’t,” was the weak plea that escaped. “Let me go.”

His voice sounded so small and pathetic. He was begging them. But he couldn’t be there anymore. Not now when he felt so exposed.

Right hand still on his chest, Joyce’s left came up to thread through his hair, brushing lightly through it, soothing. Ethan felt himself relax slightly.

“Shh,” Rupert and Joyce’s voices mingled in a quieting chorus.

What was wrong with him? Fear wasn’t something he was accustomed to. It wasn’t part of who he was. He dealt in fear at times but he did not fear. Ethan had never felt so lost in all of his life.

Joyce kissed him then with such overwhelming tenderness he could think of nothing else.

“We’ll get through this,” she said, gently caressing the side of his face as she pulled away, so much compassion in her eyes. “Let me take care of you.” And without further hesitation she picked up where she had left off in her slow descent.

Rupert’s death grip relaxed slightly and he began to nibble along Ethan’s neck. No violence or possession behind the gesture, just a comforting familiarity.

“I would have cocked this up permanently if you weren’t around,” Rupert murmured.

Any response Ethan was capable of making was cut off by the sharp hiss off pleasure elicited by Joyce’s hot, firm tongue tracing a wet trail from base to tip of his penis. She toyed briefly with the head, first with tongue, then teeth, then lips, before she took him all the way in. Her tongue dance exotically as she held him, teasing along veins, moving up and down, wrapping around . . . her skills had only improved with time, and they were exceptional to begin with.

Hypnotized by the bobbing curls, barely registered Rupert’s babble. “Her mouth is so tight, burning, slick pliable resistance . . . so similar ours, so different. Waiting and ready. Always so ready . . .” he trailed off. “For you and me alone. No other. Just us. And we’re her slaves, completely.”

There was no denying that. If she were to ask, there was very little Ethan wouldn’t do for Joyce. And when it came down to it, as things stood at the present, the same was true with regards to Rupert. Even after their hey day, the twenty-odd years since, if Ripper had asked, Ethan wouldn’t have said no. Certainly he had his own agenda, no morals, but for the right person, the right two persons, Ethan could be swayed from his selfish ways.

He felt the familiar tightening take hold as various pressures built toward climax.

“Come for us, Ethan, come for Joyce and me,” the husky request from his male lover drove him near the edge.

And when Joyce’s fingers snuck behind his balls and pressed just so, Ethan came, crying her name hoarsely into the otherwise silent room.

 

 

Rupert had released him, but still lay by Ethan’s right side. Joyce’s head rested against his chest. And Ethan stared at the canopy, trying to order his thoughts, a bit ironic for one who worshiped chaos as he did.

When had it all changed? From casual fucking to well, anything but—or had it never been casual to begin with? But that was really a moot point, wasn’t it? The fact remained that he was in deep, so irrevocably deep that the time to escape had long since passed.

“I thought that was my job,” Rupert’s smooth baritone broke into his thoughts.

Ethan shifted so he could look at Rupert, but was careful not to disturb Joyce. “Oh, what’s that?”

Rupert grinned, “Thinking too much.”

Ethan snorted.

“You want to be careful with that, don’t want to give us the wrong impression, do you?” Rupert asked slyly.

“That I’ve finally grown serious and introspective after all of these years?”

His friend tried to keep a straight face, but was soon laughing. “I’m sorry, never mind. Forget I ever said anything.”

Ethan was surprised to find that Rupert’s disbelief hurt. Not that he wanted to be seen as such, but . . . Lightly, he said, “One of us has to balance out the other’s brooding. Guess it just falls on my shoulders.”

Rupert frowned. “Is everything alright?”

“With me? Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? Blissed out between my lovers.”

“Earlier you—”

“It was nothing, Ripper,” Ethan said firmly, the tone saying in no uncertain terms to drop the subject.

The other man fixed him with an unblinking gaze. “Hm.”

Ethan was about to reply but Joyce chose that moment to wake up.

“Women,” she mumbled.

He and Rupert exchanged a quizzical look.

She blinked at them with sleep-clouded eyes, “Yes, you two. Like old women. I drift off for all of five minutes and the two of you start bickering again like a couple of middle aged matrons.”

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Rupert said low in his ear.

“Hey, now!” Joyce leaned up over Ethan to glare at Rupert. She had shifted just high enough so one of her breasts dangled tantalizingly close to Ethan’s waiting mouth. This wasn’t a time for fighting, was it? His tongue darted out, tasting the soft flesh and Joyce’s mild rage faded into a heady moan. Encouraged, Ethan moved his head and latched on to the nipple firmly.

Joyce arched and braced herself against Rupert, allowing Ethan easy access. She shivered when he bit down. All too soon, though, she pulled away, sitting back to watch him through narrowed eyes.

“I don’t think so,” she shook her head. “This isn’t about me.”

“Or me,” Rupert growled beside him, nibbling lightly at Ethan’s ear as his hand coasted slowly lower.

What in the bloody hell were they playing at?

“You are a part of this you know,” Rupert said, his tone serious and seductive. “Not an outsider. Not a third wheel. Ethan, you are no less worthy or deserving of attention than either Joyce or I.”

Joyce had lain back down, her hand drifting with Rupert’s in a casual dance, whispering over Ethan’s skin. Ethan felt himself relaxing into the caresses, pushing back the earlier panic that had started to rise again. While he liked being the center of attention, always had for that matter, with Joyce and Rupert he rarely if ever was. It didn’t seem right to him. He laughed at that. When had he started being concerned about what was right?

“You find our attentions amusing, do you?” Rupert quirked an enquiring brow.

“Among other things,” Ethan smirked as Rupert’s head dipped to nip lightly at his lips. His mouth opened gradually to Rupert’s talented ministrations. The man always did know how to kiss. More than anything else Rupert did to him, it could literally bring Ethan to his knees. Where beating and groping failed, Rupert’s mouth could always take the day. Not that Ethan would ever admit it out loud. If that simple little secret were known . . . after all, he had an image to maintain, didn’t he?

As if reading his thoughts, “That always has been your undoing,” Rupert broke off with a smirk.

Joyce cut off Ethan’s remark by picking up where Rupert had left off, putting all of her skill to good use. No matter how gentle Rupert was, his kisses could never be as soft as Joyce’s. Maybe it was something to do with the genders.

In the meantime, both Rupert and Joyce were alternating with firm, drawn out strokes along his shaft, a pleasurable sensation geared more toward relaxation than heightening his arousal.

Man of action that he was and had always been, Ethan didn’t think he would mind remaining in that bed for the rest of his days. Chaos and the world be damned. But being a man of action, he could only be content with such lavish and languid attention for so long. He needed more.

Tangling his fingers through their hair, Ethan pulled his lovers close. Voice husky, he repeated the same plea and command Joyce so often used with them, “I need you both. Now.”

“Always,” Joyce said, pulling him onto herself.

All curves and so soft, her flesh giving welcomingly to his own. And when he slid inside, her silky warmth surrounding him, Ethan was again thankful for the privilege she had granted him to feel her bare and not through some man-made barrier.

“So good,” he breathed. Joyce smiled knowingly.

Soon Rupert was seeking entry, stretching Ethan with all the care he had ever shown to Joyce. And then Rupert was pressing against his back, lean, hard muscles masked by the years but still there deep down.

In the middle, Ethan was allowed the rare opportunity of experiencing the best of both worlds simultaneously—coarse and smooth, soft and hard. Opposite sensations and yet so similar.

Ethan gave no more thought about how lost he was as they began to move together, the three of them. He had never felt more at home.  



	15. Of The Wide World Dreaming On Things To Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end.

As was often the case, Ethan had slipped out in the middle of the night. He had stayed through one night. Two in a row, that was asking too much.

Giles’ sleep-clouded eyes landed on the bedside clock, neon green numbers proclaiming the hour far too early to be awake, especially when one took into account how little sleep they had had. Unfortunately, if he and Joyce didn’t get up soon, they would most likely miss their flight. But he wasn’t altogether certain that would be a bad thing. Returning to Sunnydale would mean returning to stolen moments and secret meetings. While there was a certain amount of excitement to be had in sneaking around, he had grown used to the openness they had enjoyed in London. Going out without fear of bumping into Buffy or the others. Being able to wake up next to Joyce every morning. It was how things were supposed to be in a relationship—the ability to be with each other and not fear getting caught and having to explain what was going on. It had been nice not to have to worry.

He curled close around Joyce’s still slumbering form. It was no wonder she was sound asleep, considering all that had taken place over the last couple days. Giles was surprised he was awake, let alone could move after nearly a day and a half of near constant sexual activity. He was surprised Agnes hadn’t stopped by with any complaints. It was fortunate they had had the foresight to keep some food in the room.

And Ethan had actually stayed through the night. Giles hadn’t woken up next to Ethan since, well, the day of Randall’s death. That was a pleasant thought, wasn’t it? He nuzzled against Joyce’s neck, inhaling her scent, driving the memories of that time away. There was no reason to be thinking about that now. Things had changed, moved on. He and Ethan were different people now. And the sun rose in the west. Deep down they were inherently the same. Maybe a little older, a little wiser, but who they were then was still part of who they were—Shit! Goddamn Ethan had been right.

Joyce shifted, pressing back into him. Oh, right, not supposed to be thinking on that, was he. Giles began to stroke softly across Joyce’s breasts and stomach, eliciting a quiet mewl of pleasure. This was a much better way to occupy himself. And if he distracted her long enough they might just miss that plane and—

The alarm clock clicked on with an air-raid caliber beep.

The woman who had been mostly asleep the moment before shot up into a sitting position, head darting from side to side, seeking out the source of noise. Giles had the feeling that many of the reflexes Buffy had were inherited, not slayer-given.

Joyce reached over him and shut the machine off and looked down at him puzzled. “When did we get an alarm clock?”

He groaned when the realization hit him. Not once in their stay there had he noticed a clock on the bedside table, because there hadn’t been one there. Until this morning. “Bloody Ethan. I’m going to kill him.”

Joyce laughed. “I think it’s sweet. He wanted to make sure we didn’t oversleep and miss the plane.”

“And that is the reason why I am going to kill him,” he grumbled.

She leaned down and kissed him then, causing his annoyance to fade. Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled so he was on top.

“Any chance I could convince you that we have plenty of time?” he kissed lightly along her throat.

“Mm, I would love to have you try, Rupert,” replied breathily, “but—”

He cut her off, capturing her lips with his own. “No buts.”

“Rupert,” her tone, while light, had a hint of mom in it.

“Yes, dear,” he rolled away. And then, with a touch of bitterness he didn’t intend. “Wouldn’t want the children to get suspicious, would we.”

“Rupert, you know why—”

“I know,” he looked at her. “It’s just that things have been nice this week, being free to enjoy each other and not have to worry about getting caught.”

She smiled understandingly, “It really has. And maybe it is time we told them, but I’m not ready for them to know. I kind of like having this all to myself. If I could hope for things to go half as well as they did with Spike, well . . .”

“Wait, what?” he stared at her in shock.

Joyce blinked, cheeks coloring in embarrassment. “Oh, right. Um . . .”

“Joyce.”

“He really figured it out for himself. I came downstairs one night and caught him raiding your kitchen,” she said simply. “I invited him over the next night and discussed things with him. Made sure he would keep quiet.”

“And he agreed to that?” Giles had trouble believing that. And if Spike had caught Joyce at his place that meant he had known for several months about things and hadn’t once . . . “Oh, that makes so much more sense now.”

She looked at him, confused.

“It wasn’t too long after I found you the morning after Ethan . . . and just before Buffy, Xander, Willow, and I took on Adam. Spike was trying to pit us against each other and he said some things that, had I not been drunk beyond all sense, might have clicked sooner,” he sighed. “How ever did you get him to never mention it?”

She shrugged. “I make really good hot chocolate, I guess.”

“There might be hope for Spike yet,” he chuckled, still not quite believing it.

“I think he could be a powerful ally if you gave him half a chance.”

“Joyce, he’s—”

“Evil. I know,” she rolled her eyes in a gesture reminiscent of her daughter. Then serious, “But you’ve given Ethan a chance.”

She had him there. He wanted to protest that it was different with Ethan because he knew him and . . . In truth, Ethan had likely done things as worse if not more so than Spike ever had.

Joyce was out of the bed and halfway to the bathroom by the time he worked things out.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” she asked, a playful half-smile teasing at her lips.

As if she needed to ask.

 

The plane ride was uneventful and passed far too quickly for Giles’ tastes. It was shortly before five in the afternoon when he pulled up in front of the house on Revello Drive. He reluctantly put the car into park and turned it off, wincing at the clunking it made as he did so.

“You really should think about getting a new car,” Joyce said conversationally. “I’m surprised this one still runs.”

He patted the faithful Citroen lovingly. “She’s seen me through quite a bit.”

“A few demon chases and last minute saves?”

“For starters.”

“You know,” she considered, “you should look into getting a convertible.”

“A convertible?”

She nodded. “No better place than California to have one. Plus I’m sure it can reach some pretty high speeds. All the better to chase and save with.”

“There’s no particular reason you want me to get a convertible, is there?” he asked suspiciously.

“A retractable roof can come in handy for certain things,” she said innocently.

Could come in handy . . . Joyce bathed in moonlight, breasts pale and glistening pale as she rose above him—

“So you’ll think about it?” She was grinning, hand teasing lightly across evidence of just how much thought he needed to give to the subject.

“I think the choice has already been made,” he said, voice low and rough.

She kissed him quick and then got out of the car. Ducking her head down, she asked, “Want to give me a hand with my bags?”

Taking a deep breath, Giles got out of the car, hoping against hope that no one was home at the Summers’ residence and wouldn’t be for some time.

He needn’t have worried. The note Joyce found in the kitchen made him a very happy man.

 

Mom,

Thought you might want to catch up on your sleep. I’m staying at Riley’s tonight and tomorrow he’s taking me up to Dad’s to pick up Dawn. I hope you had a good trip.

Buffy

P.S. Did you pick up those new Docs I wanted?

 

Giles set the note carefully aside and pulled Joyce to him. “What do you say we go catch up on our sleep?”

“Sleep, hm?” she arched a brow. “Are you sure it’s sleep you have in mind?”

Kissing along her jaw line, “Eventually,” he murmured. Then, in one smooth movement, he swept her up into his arms and made his way toward the stairs. He kissed her as they ascended to the second floor and didn’t stop until he set Joyce on her bed.

He knelt before her in simple supplication. Slipping her right shoe off, Giles began to press his fingers firmly into the sole of her foot, working it over thoroughly before turning his attention to her left.

Joyce leaned back with a happy sigh. “You don’t know how wonderful that feels.”

“Just wait,” he smiled, moving up to her calves. Seeing her breathing slow, he protested, “Joyce!”

Her head popped up and she blinked, “Hm?”

“But you can’t fall asleep on me.”

“No sleep. Right,” she agreed, eyes closing as she laid back down again.

Well, if she did fall asleep, Giles didn’t think waking her up would be an unpleasant experience. It hadn’t been so far.

He reached her thighs, pushing the fabric of her skirt up to allow easier access as he kneaded her muscles, applying constant and firm pressure. He progressed by slow degrees, paying equal attention to each muscle. Reaching the tops of her thighs, he slid her simple cotton underwear down and off before continuing. His thumbs worked in gentle circles, between labia and across her clit, subtly building her arousal.

“If you ‘one more time’ me, Rupert, I will kill you,” Joyce said heavily.

What was she—ah, Ethan and his Tantric massage. Giles was surprised at how little jealousy the thought evoked. “Not today,” was all he replied.

Soon, her breathing became ragged. “Want you,” she managed, lifting her head.

“After,” he said, keeping the steady rhythm.

“Now,” she commanded.

There was the steely edge that brooked no argument. And, he realized, he whole-heartedly agreed.

Giles stood and undressed, Joyce doing the same.

“Come to me,” she said, holding out her hand.

Taking it, he went, carefully moving over her. Slender fingers wrapped around his shaft, guiding him in, guiding him home. Giles sighed as Joyce’s legs wrapped around his hips, drawing him in a little further.

She looked up at him, eyes bright and dilated wide. As he began to rock, her eyes fluttered closed.

“Joyce, don’t,” he whispered, trailing his free hand along her brow. “I want you to see.”

Her eyes opened, locking on his, never wavering.

He realized all too soon what a dangerous game it was to look in your lover’s eyes as you made love to them. There was a connection, an intensity that wasn’t there otherwise.

So beautiful and accepting and amazing. Was it any wonder he loved her?

It was on the tip of his tongue to say the words, but Giles bit them back. No, it wasn’t the right time. He knew she wasn’t ready for that yet. It could wait.

Instead, Giles breathed a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Welcome, always,” she smiled.

Someday he would say the words. But not today. This was enough and they had time.  



End file.
